


To a Friend

by Kenizz



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Bullying, Friendship, Homophobic Language, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Romance, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-05-29
Updated: 2012-10-18
Packaged: 2017-11-06 05:45:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 25,565
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/415407
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kenizz/pseuds/Kenizz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are a lot of things I hate. I hate my interfering brother. I hate my idiotic school. I hate my so called classmates. But what I hate most of all, is John Watson</p><p> </p><p>Accidentally deleted entire work and is now reposting with actual chapter 5</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. New acquaintances and old enemies

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Hello, I'm dyslexic so neither spelling nor grammar will be perfect. Feel free to correct me if you find anything and I will change it.
> 
> A few warnings before you start reading. This chapter will contain graphic description of violence and a bit of homophobia. More warnings at the bottom.
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own anything and I make no profit while writing this
> 
> Enjoy :)

There are a lot of things I hate. I hate my interfering brother. I hate my idiotic school. I hate my so called classmates. But what I hate most of all, is John Watson.

I glare at the hand extended towards me, Then at the boy extending it towards me. Does he really expect to take it? He shifts his weight from his left foot to his right and smile a little wider. His before natural smile is now forced and his eyes are darting from me to his hand. He's clearly uncomfortable but I honestly can't be bothered.

I glare at him for a few seconds more before grabbing my coat and walking out the door, not even sparing a second glance at the boy. I pull on my coat and gloves while I walk. I head towards my usual smoking place under a tree across the grounds. A place remote enough to keep me hidden without obstructing my view.

As I walk I pass the entrance and the sign saying _Welcome to St Leonard's School, Southminster._ St Leonard's is supposed to be one of the best boarding schools in the UK but if there is something my years here has taught me is that a fat paycheck and posh pupils are enough to make any school 'one of the best in the UK'.

When I reach my tree I pull up a cigarette and my lighter. With the first exhale I can feel the tension leaving my body and fly away with the smoke, dissolve into nothing. I lean back and rest my back against the trunk, observing the grounds. Nothing has changed since I left for summer, not that I had expected it to. A few drops of rain hit the leaves above me and soon it's pouring down.

I flick away the cigarette and it sizzles in the rain for a secund before getting completely soaked. There is still something gnawing the back of my head though. Usually a cigarette is enough to stop my racing mind enough to make me relax, but not this time. There is something disturbing about my encounter with the boy. I run our meeting over in my mind. Me, on bed. He, enters. Presentations, on his behalf. Me, leaving. No, there was nothing about the meeting itself, It was what he had said that bothered me.

_Hi, I'm John Watson, your new roommate._

Ah, roommate. I haven't had a roommate for several years. The few who had tried changed rooms within a week and after a while the school board stopped trying to find a roommate for me. Since then my room have been a sanctuary for me, the one place where I didn't have to deal with the imbeciles filling this school. And now this John Watson, a scholarship, rugby playing little blond from Leeds, had ruined everything.

With a huff I light another cigarette. Just my luck. The last year I spend here and I have to spend it with a rugby player. I couldn't exactly hope for him to change rooms either, the only reason he's paired with me is because I'm the only one in my year without roommate.

I wait a few minutes while the rain subsides before dropping my cigarette and grinding my foot on top of it. The rain continues to drizzle while I make my way back to the B-building.

"Look it's the freak. Hey! Freak!"

I mentally roll my eyes before turning towards the voices. David Palmer, Jim Moriarty and Eric Webb are making their way towards me, David in the middle and the other two following shortly behind. Both David and Eric walk like gorillas but I guess that's what you get when you play rugby. Not that anyone with their level of intelligence would be capable of doing anything else with their life. Jim on the other side is clever, almost as clever as myself, but he use his intelligence for personal gain instead of in the name of science. What a shame.

"Had a good summer freak? Found any dead bodies?" David asks when they've caught up with me. Eric snickers behind David's back and Jim kicks him in the shin and tells him to shut up.

"Ah, David. Always a pleasure to see you. How's your mother, still drinking I see?" The grin on David's face drop and the rest of the group grows silent. I raise a questioning eyebrow and flash him a mocking smile.

"Fucking faggot" Eric exclaims and moves forwards, but before he can reach me he's stopped by David.

"You think you're so clever don't you? With your little trick." I roll my eyes at his comment and sigh.

"It's not a trick. It's called a deduction and everyone could do it if they just opened their eyes."

"Just shut up, okay. No one asked for your opinion." David points a threatening finger at me and Eric nods behind him. I look down at his finger, carefully keeping my face clear of emotions, and slowly raise my eyes to David's face. I hold my gaze there until he shifts a little.

"Am I free to leave or are you planning on occupying my time further?" I don't wait for a response before turning around and resuming my walk back to the dorms. Really this again, can't they just leave me alone. This routine became excruciatingly boring years ago and god forbid they ever tried to change things.

Suddenly Jim is standing in front of me, smiling like it's christmas morning. I stop and return his smile, crooking my head in the process as if to say 'is this really necessary'. Both he and I know that he is the real leader of this group but, in his own words, manipulating people into doing what you want is so much more fun than ordering them around.

"Oh I _do_ think it is" He says and shoves me backwards. I move my right leg backwards to restore my balance but something stops my movement halfway through and I lose my footing, landing hard on my back in the mud.

A boot connects to my stomach and another with my shin. I curl into a ball and cover my face while kicks and punches rains down on me. Despite my best efforts I can't keep a small whimper from escaping my lips. It hurts and I want it to stop. Tears prickle in my eyes and I can't breathe properly.

Suddenly they stop and pull me onto my knees so I'm kneeling in front of David. It's humiliating but I refuse to let them get to me. With a smirk I look up and ask. "Is that all?" As an answer David shoves his knee in my face and I can feel blood pouring out my nose. Jim and Eric let go and the three of them walk away, laughing over their work.

I squeeze my nose and tilt my head backwards to stop the bleeding and stay on the ground for a minute or two before I slowly stand. My head spins uncomfortably but I force myself to keep going. With my free hand I search my jacket for a handkerchief which I then press against my bleeding nose.

By the time I reach the dorms my nose has stopped bleeding and the rain has washed away most of the mud from my hair and coat. I walk up to room 22, pull out my key and open the door.

John looks up at me from his place by the drawer. When he takes in my appearance his eyes widen in confusion and concern. I feel like laughing at him. Oh I wonder how long it will take before he joins the abuse. Maybe I should take my chance and befriend him now while he's still oblivious. I decide against however, I would just grow tired of him in the end.

"Are you allright?" I hear him ask but I ignore it. Instead I'm looking at the room. My side is the same as always. A few books on the shelf, all of my clothes in my drawer, my bed made and my writing desk clean. What surprises me is John's side of the room. His bed also impeccably made, a few books on the shelf, writing desk clean and his clothes, which John was putting away before I entered, neatly folded. The only thing that separates my side form his is the fact that his books are mostly fictional while mine are mostly scientific and the family photo on his bedside table. From my experience rugby players are generally far from this tidy.

I look at John again who looks back at me worryingly. I turn around before I can reflect over this and enter the bathroom where I shrug off my coat. The back is covered in mud. With a sigh I toss it aside, I will have to ask Mycroft to get it cleaned. I turn to the mirror and twitch a little when I see my own reflection. My nose and chin is covered in blood and my hair is full of mud. Well, at least I understand why John looked so worried now, I look like shit. With a sigh I undress and step into the shower, washing away all evidence of ever encountering my bullies.


	2. Breaking habits

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Hello, so here's the second Chapter :)
> 
> Chapter warning: Bullying
> 
>  
> 
> Now on with the Chapter  
> Enjoy :)

Tossing my book aside I let out a sigh, it's no use anyway, my mind won't stay focused on the word. I sit up and look around the room. John's half of the room still as spotless as when he moved in here nine days ago. A pleasant surprise but still a surprise nevertheless, and I do not like surprises. In fact, I find John's whole behaviour surprising. Despite befriending the other rugby players and despite knowing I'm the school freak he still hasn't joined in with the bullying. He actually regularly seems to find interest in trivial thing as how I feel or how my day has been, which, though rather unnerving, is quite pleasant for a change.

A rumble from my stomach breaks the silence and I check my watch. Dinner started a quarter ago and the last time I ate was... Sunday night. I heave myself out of bed and grab my keys.

The walk from the B-building to the canteen isn't far and soon I'm one of the zombies in the dinner queue. I spot John sitting with David and the others and as soon as I got my bowl of soup I find an empty table where I can observe them unnoticed.

John, who is listening to David bragging about his 'achievements' at a party this weekend, is sitting at the far end of the table, facing away from me.

The whole table breaks into cheers when David reach the peak of his story but John doesn't join in. He merely smiles at David and continues eating. Could be dangerous for his reputation but no one at the table notice, but if his reputation survives greeting me in the halls, which means social suicide for almost everyone else, I guess it would take quite a lot to ruin it.

However I do wonder why he continues to be nice towards me, I would rather have it that he isn't, almost. I don't want nor need friends so it's just a waste of time on his part and an annoying disturbance on mine.

I don't think it has anything to with his background either. From what I can tell, which is usually both a lot and correct, John is like any other 17 year old. He lives with his Mother, Father and brother. His mother has a low salary job and his father works in the military, the source of John's tidiness. His brother, Harry, is older than John himself and but about the same size. He has been playing rugby for several years but he takes school very seriously, if his study habits are anything to go by. He likes fantasy, his favourite team is Manchester united and he's left handed. Nothing in this information gives him any reason to be kind towards me.

I continue to observe the table. David and John are now participating in some kind armwrestling and the rest of the table is cheering loudly. After a while it's clear that John is winning and with a final push David's hand touches the table and John is declared the winner.

Odd, during the short time I've know him John has broke almost every rule in St Leonard's and still managed to stay among the most popular, and this without really trying.

A loud whistle behind me brings me out of my thoughts and a second later a hot, sticky liquid is dumped over my head. I can feel it soaking through my curls and drip down over my shoulders and face. More of the liquid is dumped over my head and I close my eyes and mouth if it happens to be poisonous. Highly unlikely but with the imbeciles let loose in this place one can never be sure.

"Oh, sorry." I hear someone say behind me, his voice full of sarcasm. "I thought this was the garbages"

With a sigh I realise someone has poured their soup over my head and I open my eyes. To my horror the whole dining hall is watching me. A few students start giggling and soon I'm being laughed at by the whole school. I accidently lock eyes with John, who has turned around to see what the fuzz was about, and I'm given a sympathetic look. Ignoring this I get up and calmly make my way towards the exit. I hold my head high and pretend that my harsh breathing and red cheeks are from the soup burning me and not from the humiliation.

When I reach my room the soup has soaked through both my blazer and my shirt and my hair is sticking uncomfortably to my forehead. I walk into the bathroom and peel of my dirty clothes and start to pick out pieces of meat and vegetables that have been tangled in my hair. I soon give up though and walk out to my drawer to fetch a fresh pair of clothes.

Behind me the door clicks open and John enters. I spin around and we lock eyes, he standing there in his navy pullover and battered school bag and me, soup in my hair and shirtless, clutching my clothes in front of me like a shield.

"Um..." He says awkwardly, shifting a little. "Are you alri-" But before he can finish I've jumped into action and locked myself in the bathroom.

* * *

When I emerge from the bathroom John is perched on his bed, reading what looks lite 'The Hobbit'. He doesn't look up when I enter the room and I can't tell if it's because he wants to give me some privacy or if he's mad at me for ignoring him earlier. Social interaction has always puzzled me and I can't really understand why people bother with it, surely there is nothing to gain. Right?

I push these thoughts aside and continue to towel my hair. When I sit down on my bed John lowers his book and looks as if he is about to say something. I focus my attention on him for a moment before it's clear that he isn't going to say anything.

I pick up my comb to comb through my curls, curly hair can be such a bother sometimes, when John asks me a question.

"Are you alright?"

This catches me completely of guard and I have to replay the question in my head before the message sinks in. Why would he ask me that?

"You know, with the soup and all. It must have hurt" He continues when I don't answer.

I turn around to check that he's not pulling my leg, I've fallen for that trick before and I am not going to do it again, but I can't seem to find anything to indicate that he isn't serious about his question. Odd.

"I'm fine" I answer.

"Okay. If you say so" His tongue darts out to wet his lips before he continues. "Why would they do that?"

I look at him in disbelief. Is he really that idiotic? Doesn't he know that I am the school freak, the outcast, the one it's okay to bully? While I was thinking John has started to talk again.

"Is this a regular thing? Not just the soup thing but the whole bullying thing"

"Yes" I Give him an icy glare. "And I am perfectly capable of handling it myself."

"Yes, yes, alright" He holds his hands up in surrender before returning to his reading.

I turn around and proceed to ignore him for the rest of the evening, not even bothering to answer when he bids me goodnight. One question is spinning around in my head, repeated over and over again.

Would he really care if I wasn't fine?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Hope you liked it :)
> 
> I have no Idea when the next chapter will be up but it will probably not take longer then a week or so.
> 
> Just a note about the OOC warning I gave in the last Chapter. I will try and keep everyone as much in character as I possibly can it was merely a warning that it might be a bit OOC but it's definitely not something I'm planing on.
> 
> Review are highly appreciated
> 
>  
> 
> Love  
> /Phin


	3. A noble act

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, sorry for the long wait but I've been rather busy with school and stuff lately :( But hey! I reward your patience with a long chapter :)
> 
> Warnings for this chapter: Homophobia, bullying and some minor violence.
> 
> Disclaimer: No owning or money making what so ever.
> 
> Enough of me, enjoy the chapter :)

The past week had been one of the most confusing weeks of my life. Since the soup pouring, and despite my effort at rejection, John still made an effort at befriending me. It had started last Thursday with John greeting me in the corridor, but instead of moving on like he usually did, he stopped and asked how I was. I had just shrugged, too occupied with my own thoughts to pay him any real attention, and when I didn't return the question he gave me an awkward smile and resumed walking.

He then became more persistent with having me participate in his conversations in our room. He would ask me a question and then stare at me patiently, and if I continued to ignore him he would say my name expectantly, as if demanding an answer. No, not _demanding,_ more like a friendly warning now that I think about it. I would then feel obligated to answer, I may not care much for social interaction but, contrary to popular belief, I do know when I'm rude and it would be more profitable for me to stay on the friendly side of John for as long as he is my roommate. After my answer, he would launch into a mostly one sided conversation, repeating the procedure with my name when the moment called for it.

This behaviour continued for the whole week and now, sitting in chemistry class, I see John make the biggest mistake he's made during his short time at St Leonard's.

Instead of sitting down with his fellow rugby friends, he walks past them and heads straight towards the empty chair next to me. A chair that's been empty for almost as long as I've attended St Leonard's.

"Is this seat taken?" He asks with a smile. I look up and behind him I can see David and Eric giving me murderous looks. Bollocks. But the one who will suffer the most from this mistake is going to be me, not John.

I wave a hand at him, neither saying yes or no to his question, and he pulls out the chair next to me and begins to unpack his things. Watching him from the corner of my eye I can see that he's seated as far from me as possible without moving the chair further away from me. Really, if he now decided to sit next to me he could at least pretend not to be bothered by it.

"Umm," he says awkwardly. I look up at him and then down on the table in front of him. He's forgotten his text book.

"Here," I say and slide mine over. I don't need it, haven't needed for a while. He gives me a smile and says a quiet 'thanks' before flipping open his note book.

Mr Richardson chooses that moment to enter the classroom, an old man with two ex-wives and the upper lip of a snuff addict. Dull. I look out the window and try to deduce the lives of people walking by, but unfortunately Southminster is a small town of approximately 4000 inhabitants and the chance of someone walking past my window is so slim that I soon give up.

I redirect my attention to the blackboard, where Mr Richardson is talking about the chemical process of making proteins and what use they are in our bodies. I can practically feel my brain rot while he rambles on and on about Lysine and Asparagine and other things I've known for years.

Beside me, John is attentively taking notes, his left hand smearing the graphite over the paper. I wonder why he chose to sit beside me of all people. John is well liked, but if he continues like this it won't be long before he's also picked on and teased. A thought hits me- would he give up his reputation just to be friends with me? Suddenly, something I can't identify stirs in my stomach. Hunger? Odd, I ate lunch yesterday, I should be fine for a while longer.

"Mr Holmes, are you paying attention?" Mr Richardson's voice cuts through my thoughts and I slowly turn my eyes towards him.

"Yes, Sir."

"Then could you be so kind and tell me what I was talking about?"

"You were sorting different amino acids in categories based on whether they're hydrophilic or hydrophobic. Although," I point towards the blackboard, "you put Proline in the wrong one. The hydroxide ion isn't enough to make it hydrophilic."

Mr Richardson turns around with a scowl that morphs into a look of surprise when he realises his mistake.

"I was just checking if you were awake," he mumbles while correcting his error. John giggles and gives me a playful punch on the shoulder and I can't help the smile tugging at my lips. My stomach stirs again, and I decide that perhaps I should eat lunch today, just in case.

* * *

I shift in my seat uncomfortably, it feels like everyone is staring at me and when I look around my suspicions are confirmed. Several people are looking at me from the corner of their eyes, mumbling and glaring. John is sitting in front of me, unaware of my discomfort.

He had waited for me after class and then followed me to the canteen, trying to make conversation with me but mostly ending up talking to himself. After standing in the food line, he had walked up to my table and actually sat down, ignoring the strange looks he got from the other students. And now he is just sitting there, eating, as if it is the most normal thing in the world.

I wonder why John is behaving the way he is. Last time someone was this friendly with me it turned out that he only wanted to copy me during tests. When I refused, he told his friends. The beating that followed confined me to bed for a whole day. But John wouldn't do that, would he?

"Hey John! Why're ya sitting with the freak?" David's voice carries around the room and John looks up to see who's calling him. David and his usual group of brain dead followers stand by an empty table not far from ours. I divert my eyes and focus on the food in front of me.

"Come over here and sit with us," Eric calls, though it's more an order than a request. John just shakes his head and swallows the rest of his potato.

"Come on, come over and sit with us," he waves his hand, motioning for them to walk over. I look up, once again perplexed at how he can still be friends with these people. Although when I look up and see the angry faces of John's team mates, I realise that if John does continue like this they won't stay friends for long.

Reluctantly, they begin to walk towards our table and as they sit down I receive several kicks to my shins. An awkward silence lowers over the table before Eric begins giggling.

"Hey, listen to this," he whispers to Charlie, who's sitting next to him, before turning and talking to the whole group, "hey! Shercock!"  
David snorts at the outburst and Eric continues, "how's life treating you? Met any nice boys, hmmm? Sucked any cock?" Both David and Charlie- who had been trying hard not to laugh- burst into uncontrollable laughter at this, letting Eric lean back smugly in his chair.

Opposite me, John has stopped eating and is staring at Eric, his expression split between the amusement he's feeling and the scowl he knows he should be wearing. Jim is chuckling heartily beside him, his eyes never leaving me.

When David and Charlie a have somewhat composed themselves, Eric continues his mockery.

"Curlylocks, I'm not sure I caught your surname. It's Homoes, right? A bit of a _queer_ name isn't it?" David and Charlie are in stitches again and Eric joins them in their laughter.

"Isn't that a bit hypocritical of you, Eric?" I ask, slowly rising from my seat, "what with you fancying Charlie and all."

The table goes deadly quiet and everyone turns their eyes to Eric, who looks like he is trying to make my head explode by sheer force will.

I know it's a lie, but I also know that my deductions are always correct and therefore there won't be anyone around the table not believing me. I turn around and walk away, not having the energy to be bothered by these apes a second longer.

* * *

I am reeking with rage when I finally manage to get the door to the cleaning closet open.

After my little joke, Jim decided it was time to 'put the faggot back in the closet'. And, with some help from David and Charlie, he had managed to lock me in the cleaning closet. In there I spent three and a half hours and looking for something to pick the lock with and banging on the door every time I heard footsteps, before finding a lost bobby pin in a corner. I then spent another half an hour trying to actually pick the lock before it finally gave way.

I correct my blazer and brush the dust off my trousers before walking out into the empty corridor. It's six o'clock in the evening and everyone is either eating dinner or hanging out in one of the common rooms.

I take a few breaths to try and calm myself, but it doesn't work. I am absolutely furious and I know exactly who's to blame for that. John bloody Watson. I hate that little blond prick, amusing himself on my behalf. Did he think I didn't see him in the canteen? Did he think I didn't see the horribly disguised joviality on his face when they mocked me?

Without noticing, I've begun walking towards the B-building. My gait is fast and my movements are jerky, my body lacking its otherwise natural grace.

This past week must have just been a joke on my behalf, John pretending to nice towards me just so he and his rugby pals could have a laugh. I can't believe I fell for it again.

At this thought, I kick over a trash can next to me, sending candy wrappers and crumpled paper flying out over the floor. This eases my rage a bit, and I take a moment to compose myself. This time it works and I continue towards my dorms, still keeping my emotions in control.

When I reach room 22, I find that John has already eaten and is currently relaxing on his bed.

"Ah, John," I begin with a forced cheeriness, "there is something I wish to talk to you about," I inform him. John lifts his head and gives me a hesitant smile.

"Um, okay. Is this about what happened at lunch? 'Cause I know they went a bit too far-"

"Ah that, no," I cut him off and wave a dismissive hand at him, "it was joke between friends, no hard feelings," My tone is far from cheery and I can see John's guilt at my words, however this doesn't stop me from going on.

"While on the subject of _friends,_ " I put as much disgust as I can in the word, "although I'm flattered by your interest, I don't need you or anyone else and I would appreciate if you left me alone from now on," my voice is dripping with venom and, judging by the look on John's face, my words hit their target.

Without further ado, I pull out a book from my shelf and throw myself on my bed, ignoring John for the rest of the evening.

* * *

After my little chat with John, things return to normal. John stops trying to have small talks with me in the corridors, and I'm left alone both in class and in our room. I spare John no second thoughts, he is now one of David's imbeciles and there is no reason whatsoever for me to pay any attention to him.

With this in mind, I simply note with a pleased feeling that Eric still hasn't been allowed back into the group after my comment, when I spot David and the others a few days later. I'm smoking under my normal tree and the thought that they might have some other motive being here than hanging around doesn't even cross my mind.

I twirl my cigarette around my fingers while I look at John talking with David. What would have happened if John and I actually had became friends? Would I grow bored of him? Would he grow bored of me? I take another drag while I muse over this. I then dismiss the idea as ridiculous. Like I told John- I don't need anyone.

Suddenly, David and Charlie begin moving quickly towards me, a determined look on their faces. John falls behind for a split second before joining the others, as if he's not entirely sure whether he wants to follow or not.

"Freak-o!" David calls, making Charlie snicker, "Heard ya been bothering my mate John 'ere!" For coming from one of the most respected families in England, David's English is impressively bad.

The group of three stop in front of me, David and Charlie in the front and John half a metre behind. I put out my cigarette against the tree trunk and raise a questioning eyebrow.

"Don' give me that look, You know wha' I'm talking about."

"Really, John?" I ask and John shuffles under my gaze.

"Guys, this isn't really necessary," he says, tugging at David's arm.

"Bloody hell John, we agreed. David and I hold down the freak and you smash his nose," Charlie complains.

"But he hasn't done anything!" John defends. David turns around and points a threatening finger at John.

"Look, it's either you or me, mate."

"Let's just leave," John tries, but both Charlie and David stubbornly stand their ground.

I sigh and roll my eyes. Well, this is getting awfully boring. I turn and begin to walk away when someone grabs my arm.

"No you don't," Charlie grabs my other arm and holds them both in a strong grip behind my back, making it impossible for me to get away.

I can see David curl his hand into a fist and draw it back, aiming a powerful punch at my nose. I close my eyes, bracing myself for the impact, and suddenly the sound of fist hitting bones is heard. I wait for the pain to come but instead I feel Charlie loosening his grip on my arms. Confused, I open my eyes.

Before me, David is clutching his bleeding nose, swearing loudly, and John is flexing his hand, checking for damage.

"For fucks sake!" Charlie pushes me away and grabs at David's jacket, pulling him away. "You fucking queer! You'll pay for this!" He calls as he and David rush away from us.

"You alright?" I hear John ask, but the words doesn't register in my brain. What just happened? Why would John do something like that?

"Why did you do that?" I ask, bemused. John looks up at me and shrugs.

"I don't know."

"You don't _know_?"

"It's what friends do, I guess," he smiles. Ah, yes. That's what friends do. Wait, what? No! I still don't understand.

"Friends? I don't have friends," the words come out more defensive than I intended them to.

"Oh...I see," John's smile drops and he looks at me with disappointment. Despite the fact that my words are true, I still feel a bit guilty. I don't have friends and I've never had. I don't _do_ that sort of thing. Even the word feels wrong in my mind.

"I'll leave you alone then," John licks his lips and turns around.

"Wait!" I call out, not really knowing why, "I- I don't mind."

"Oh?" John turns around again, confusion written all over his face

"I mean the friends thing. One friend isn't, strictly speaking, _friends,_ " I suddenly feel awkward and vulnerable in a way I have not done in years. Why am I doing this?

"No, I guess it isn't," John says with a smile and I can feel my face mimic his. He meets my eyes and suddenly this whole situation turns utterly ridiculous. I let out a breathy laugh and so does John, and seconds later we're both in stitches, laughing like there is nothing more hilarious than punching a guy in the face to save a weirdo you don't know.

"Did you really just punch David?" I ask when I've calmed down a bit.

"Yeah," John breathes, "but truth be told, he's a real arse. Come on, it's getting cold," He flashes me a smile and we begin our walk back to the dorms. With John walking next to me and laughter still bubbling inside I think that maybe, this whole friend thing isn't so bad after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Huge thanks to my Beta The Science Of Seduction over on FF.net :)
> 
> Next chapter will probably be up in a few days. It's Easter holidays here so I have a lot of time to write.
> 
> Comments are highly appreciated :)
> 
> Love  
> /Phin


	4. A bothersome discovery

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Hello, sorry for the long wait but here is the deal. I wrote this entire chapter and I was done Friday two weeks ago but I wasn't entirely satisfied so I slept on it and then I wasn't satisfied again so I slept on it again and when I still wasn't satisfied so I trashed it. And then a hell week started in school so I drowned under two big tests, two essays and one important presentation so I didn't have time to write until this Friday. But hay, the chapter is 4000+ words long :)
> 
> So I don't think we have any warnings in this chapter. I'm being nice to our Sherlock this time :)
> 
> Disclaimer: No owning or money making on my part. All rights go to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle and the BBC.
> 
> Enough blabbering from me and enjoy the chapter

"She gave me a C+!" John exclaims as he sits down on the chair opposite me. I feel a smile growing on my face, despite John's obvious unhappiness. He wants to sit with me today as well.

Two weeks, almost three, our friendship has lasted, and I have been forced to admit that having John around almost all the time hadn't been as unbearable as I thought. Quite enjoyable, actually.

The first few days were awkward in the sense that John felt obliged to make conversation all the time. He'd start talking about something trivial and when I didn't respond he'd fidget for a while before starting the whole routine over again. Most of the time I didn't answer because I couldn't be bothered to. Don't get me wrong, John's topics were...entertaining enough to not bore me, but they rarely went beyond that. The other times I didn't answer were not because I couldn't be bothered to, but because I didn't know what to answer. Uncertainty was a feeling I rarely felt, and when John managed to lure this out with questions like ' _So what's your favourite team then?'_ or ' _What kind of music do you listen to?'_ I felt it was best not to answer than to answer wrongly.

After the first awkward days it seemed to dawn on John that neither of us had any need of constant conversation and he stopped talking. My first reaction to this had inexplicably been fear of some kind. When I prodded at my fear, I found out that it was fear of John leaving me and I quickly pushed the emotion aside. It wouldn't bother me if John left me, I didn't need anyone. When I realised that we were still friends the odd stirring feeling in my stomach came back and has continued to do so with more frequency.

About a week into our friendship, John inquired about my violin.

" _Are you any good?"_

_I roll my eyes at his question, "John, have any of my remarks about your language entered your skull? You need to be more specific with your questions."_

" _Are you any good at playing the violin?"_

_I look over at my violin resting in the open case on top of my bed. I had been playing before John entered the room but I had stopped as soon as I heard someone fumbling by the door, I didn't want to annoy John. Why didn't I want to annoy John? Would he even be annoyed? Pushing these thought aside I answer with a curt nod._

" _Could you play something for me?" John asks hopefully. His words freeze my thoughts. John wants me to play something...for him? I regard him suspiciously, wondering why he would possibly want to listen to me play._

_My interest in the violin has only been met with mockery before, earning me a stronger reputation of being an outcast. Despite this I've always loved the violin, it has been the only thing that can calm my frantic mind. From the day my mother first gave me the bow till now, it has been the one thing grounding me, making sure my mind doesn't spiral out of control._

_As every other time John asks me one of these unexpected questions I can't find anything that suggests he's not completely honest in his face. John, always so honest, has so far been the only person on this school who has made an effort to get to know me. A decision that is equally reassuring and unnerving._

_During these few seconds of silence thought I've experienced a range of different emotions – Yes, I do occasionally have emotions. Having emotions is not a weakness, merely an inconvenience. Showing them and letting your emotions control you, however, is a weakness - though I've shown nothing of it to John, and continue to keep my face impassive as I rise from my desk chair, walk over to the bed and pick up my violin._

" _Any requests?" I ask, mimicking the voice of a servant. John answers with a short laugh and a shrug_.

" _Surprise me."_

_Quickly scrolling through my mental music file I choose a piece I've known for years, not too hard but still impressive. I tighten the bow hair and bring my violin up squeezing it between my shoulder and jaw. I give the strings a few short, experimental plucks to check that they're still in tune. Carefully positioning my left hand around the neck, I let the violin become a part of myself. I slowly place the bow on the strings, taking a deep breath and closing my eyes I let the first note fill the room._

_During the next five minutes I am one with the music, letting it fill every fibre of my being. My mind is peacefully empty as my fingers dance over the strings. I forget about John watching me and just play, bringing every single sound from the very core of my heart._

_When I finish I let the final note ring through the room as I stay completely still, knowing that when I open my eyes the spell will be broken. With a deep breath I open my eyes and drop my violin and bow to my side._

_John is looking at me with an unreadable expression and I feel my stomach drop. He didn't like it. I haven't felt this vulnerable in years and I can't help to shuffle my feet a bit. There is a reason for why I don't play the violin for everyone and that is because I strip myself of my masks and lower my walls and show my heart through my music. But I had strangely enough trusted John and showed him a bit of myself no one else at this school sees and he didn't like it!_

" _That-" he says and I can no longer look at him "- was amazing."_

_My whole body relaxes and I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding,"you really think so?" I ask sheepishly, and when he nods I can't help but smile._

Since then, having John in the same room as myself hasn't stopped me from playing, and John has seemed just as delighted by the music now as he did back when I first played for him.

Last week we formed a kind of rhythm with each other. We would eat breakfast, well mostly it was just him eating, and then split up and attend our classes. Then during lunch I would check on whether John was eating with his friends, still rugby friends but no longer the alpha dogs, or if he was alone. If he were with friends I would go to the library if he wasn't I would sit with him while he ate, something which occurred more and more often. Then, if it were Tuesday or Friday, we would walk together to the next class, and if it were any other day of the week, we would once again split up. John would return to our room later than me due to rugby practice most nights, and we would spend the evening talking.

"Sherlock! Are you even listening to me?" John's voice breaks through my thoughts and I am brought back to reality.

"No."

John sighs but smiles, "I was telling you about Mrs Greenwood, and how-"

"Miss."

"What?"

"It's Miss Greenwood, she's not married."

"Oh. Anyway," He continues, " _Miss_ Greenwood gave me a C+ on my essay. I have been working on it for the entire week and she gives me a C+. It's ten times better than Tom's and he got a A-!" He throws up his hands to emphasise his point and then takes out his rage on an innocent potato by mashing it with his fork.

"It's because you're from a middle class family, she doesn't want the 'noble families' to mix with commoners. She also dislikes Scottish, Irish and Welsh people. She thinks we're peasants."

"Really?" John furrows his brows in confusion then shrugs, "well that explains a lot," he stabs a meatball with his fork and brings it up to his mouth, but then something hits him and he freezes midway.

"Hang on a minute," he points both fork and meatball at me, "you said ' _we'._ Is 'Holmes' is not an English family?"

"No, old Scottish nobilities. You should have seen Miss Greenwood's face when she found out. Thought she would pass out. My grades dropped from A's to C's within no time."

"Wait, you're Scottish? But you don't have an accent."

"No, I don't. The Holmes family haven't lived in Scotland for three generations. I do however, own a very lovely kilt in the Holmes family tartan."

John looks at me with a look of complete bewilderment for a second before he bursts out laughing. I give him a serious look, but I can't stop a chuckle from bubbling out of me and soon we're both laughing uncontrollably. I can't remember the last time I laughed like this, without a care in the world.

"Oh god, I would pay to see you in a kilt," John manages to squeeze out between giggles.

"Well, that's not going to happen," I answer and grab a cucumber from his plate.

"Oi, I thought you said you weren't eating," he tries to snatch the cucumber out of my hand but I quickly shove it in my mouth.

"Even sociopaths need to eat."

When I've finished chewing and look up at John I find that he is no longer smiling but looking at me with something close to disappointment in his eyes. When we lock eyes he looks down at his plate and I'm left staring at his sand coloured hair.

Did I say something wrong? I go through the last ten minutes in my head again and try to pinpoint the moment when I could have disappointed him. I can't find something that would count as inappropriate by normal social standards and decide that maybe he really doesn't like when other people touch his food. Despite knowing that I couldn't possibly know this, you can't deduce those things, I can't help but feel a bit guilty.

* * *

Although it's not even October yet, it's dark outside when John returns from rugby practise, already showered and changed into his school uniform. Unlike most of the students at St. Leonard's, including me, who wear the navy blue blazer on top of their white shirt and black tie, John instead wears the knitted pullover over the rest of the uniform and it makes him look...softer than the other students. Almost cuddly. I jerk my head back at my own thoughts. Cuddly?

I redirect my focus on the textbook in my hands- biology, tedious- while John moves about the room, throwing dirty clothes in the washing basket. I notice that he seems a bit distracted, stopping mid motion a few times and casting regular fleeting glances at me.

"You have questions," it's a statement, and it makes John stop his insufferable beating about the bush business he's been indulged in since returning to our room. His tongue darts out to lick his lips once and I find that my eyes follow its movement.

"Yeah, you know that thing you said at lunch," oh no, he's still mad about that? My stomach twists uncomfortably, "about me being from a middle class family." Oh that!

"It's fine John. I've obviously known for a while so there is no need for you to worry that this information might change our relationship," I give him a look that's supposed to say 'how do you survive normal life with that level of IQ' but I'm not entirely sure I succeed.

"I didn't worry! Besides that wasn't at all what I was about to ask you. I was going to ask how you knew I'm from a middle class family." He says with a small smile while he seats himself on his bed, obviously pleased with himself.

"Oh that, I deduced it."

"You...deduced?" He sounds confused at first but after a few moments his expression clears. "Ah, that trick you do! David told me about it. Can you really tell everything about a person from just one look?"

I drop my book onto my chest and gives him another 'you're so stupid I'm surprised you're alive' look and this time I'm sure I succeed. "It is not a trick! It's simple logic, anyone could do it if people just bothered to use their eyes!" I exclaim. Why can't people just think for themselves?

"Whoa, calm down I was just asking. But you can do it?"

"Yes."

"Can you do me?"

I hesitate. People usually don't react well to me using my deduction skills on them and it has earned me quite a few beatings in the past. I don't want John to get mad at me just because I couldn't keep my mouth closed. But John have been so accepting before, maybe this wouldn't bother him so much. Despite earlier claiming not caring whether John left or stayed I now have to say that I'd rather have him staying so is it really worth the risk. All previous data points to the odds for John liking my deductions being very low, too low, but John have went against all of my previous data.

Still trying to make up my mind I look up and meet John's eyes for the first time since he returned to our room, and like every other time I've ever doubted him John's eyes speak nothing but complete honesty and interest.

With my mind already made up for me I let the floodgates open.

"You live with your mother, father and brother. Your Mother has a low salary job and your father works in the military but he's not stationed somewhere right now. Your brother is called Harry and he's older than you but otherwise you are both the same size. You have been playing rugby for several years but that's not where your scholarship came from. No that came from studying and it is the reason to why you constantly study. You prefer fantasy books over other genres, your favourite team is Manchester United and you're left handed."

I slowly inhale and try to shove down the rising panic within me. It was too much, John is going to be creeped out and then our friendship will seize to exist. I don't have to worry long though because before I can finish my inhale John proclaims "Fantastic!"

"Really?"

"Yes, it was quite extraordinary. Did you really know all that?"

"Well obviously."

"Hey!" He gives my hips a playful shove with his foot and I can feel something fluttering inside my chest "Smug bastard! So okay you _obviously_ knew all that but how did you know it?"

"You have a photo on your bedside table-" I nod my head in the direction of said photo "-of a woman and a man, their position shows that they're married or at least in a serious long term relationship. The photo also show you and another teenager, male, about the same size as you. The way the woman's hand is positioned on his shoulder showing they're related. This photo is clearly arranged and taken by a professional and no one hires a professional to just take a photo of friends so family photo, your family photo.

Your suitcase," I point at the suitcase under John's bed, "the name tag says 'Harry S Watson', so it was given to you by a relative. The suitcase is old but not older than a few years. Now, who gives their relative a suitcase? No uncle or aunt would give their nephews a second-hand suitcase so therefore it must be from a closer relative. The suitcase is too new to be one of your parent's old ones so therefore it must have been your brother's. Second-hand suitcase with the name Harry on the name tag. You have an older brother called Harry.

"Now since the suitcase, and some of the clothes you own, have been given to you, your family is not too well off but not so poor you're in trouble. The way you hold yourself and the way you fold your clothes and make your bed screams 'military' but since you're too young to have any military training yourself your behaviour comes from someone close to you, closer than a strict teacher or trainer so therefore family. Your brother is also too young to have had enough military training for it to have influenced you, father it is then.

"How do I know that he's not stationed anywhere now? You rarely read the papers and when you do it's the comics you read. Your father and you are close judging by the way you constantly email to each other-" John exclaims something like ' _you've read my email?'_ at this but I wave it off with my hand. "- so if he'd been stationed somewhere you would be worrying about him and therefore keeping up with what was happening abroad through, amongst other things, the papers. An off duty army salary doesn't take you far but complement the army salary with a normal paid job and you have no problems financially. Your family have financial problems," I indicate his suitcase again, "so therefore your mother has a low salary job.

"Your body type and the fact that you made the rugby team tells me you've been playing for quite some time, but because you had to qualify for the team you didn't get into St. Leonard's through rugby, you got a scholarship for your school presentations then.

"Your bookcase is packed with fantasy books- The Lord of the Rings trilogy, Harry Potter, C.S Lewis. It's obvious you prefer this genre over others. Your keys have a Manchester United key ring on them and you don't buy nor keep merchandises from clubs that aren't your favourite. Now for the part of you being left handed, I've seen you write on lessons. You'd have to be blind to miss that.

Now, did I get anything wrong?"

"Brilliant!" I look up and beside me John is practically beaming. "Absolutely brilliant," he looks down at his lap and shakes his head, "just amazing."

I take a moment to swallow down the happiness bubbling up inside of me. My heart feels like it's swelling. Never before have my deductions been met with this kind of praise and I'm not entirely sure how to react to the situation.

"Did I get anything wrong?" I repeat. John's head snaps up.

"Sorry?"

"Were my deductions correct?"

"Oh, well-" He begins but then stops and grin. "actually yeah. I think they were. Yeah."

"Oh, I didn't expect to get everything right."

"Incredible," John continues to mumble to himself.

"You do know that you do that out loud," I remark a little harder than I intended. John's repeated prise have begun to sound more like mocking in my ears than I'm comfortable with.

"Oh, right sorry."

"No, it's alright," I clear my throat, "it's just not, what people usually say."

"What do they usually say?"

"Piss off."

John looks at me with a frown then giggles a bit, "morons."

I feel the same kind of happiness bubble up inside of me as before, but this time I don't stop the feeling from breaking through my walls and I allow myself to smile. But when John smiles back at me I can feel something close to...loneliness, no, longing maybe, or a mix of the two, clamp itself around my heart.

* * *

It's Sunday, four o'clock in the afternoon and John and I are currently walking down the high street of Southminster. We have already done the north street so there isn't really much more to see in this town when the high street ends. It's usual for students to walk into town on the weekends, especially sunny days like this, but after my first visit in this sleepy town I've never really seen the appeal. As I suspected close to nothing has changed since last time I visited. John, who suggested we should take a walk in the village, has already been here two other times in his short stay here at St. Leonard's and I'm surprised he still finds the village fascinating enough to waste his weekend here, almost as surprised as when I found myself accepting his suggestion of going here.

We're passing St. Leonard's church, which our school was named after, when we cross paths with a middle aged man in socks and sandals. To not walk straight into the man John moves closer to me and our hands accidentally touch. My heart flutters in my chest and I can feel a faint blush creeping up my cheeks, luckily John doesn't seem to notice.

This whole blushing like a maiden in distress thing begun this Wednesday after John had praised my deductions. Since then I've become more prone to so called 'butterflies' in my stomach when John is near. I've also found that my heart speeds up every time he touches me and it's almost as if I can feel where his skin made contact with mine hours later.

On Friday morning John had noticed that my tie needed straightening and instead of informing me about the matter he had simply walked up to me and corrected it himself. While he did this I had been frozen on the spot, only being able to focus on how close he was to me - _His hands are almost touching my chest, I can feel his breath on my neck_ \- and that if he were to move ten inches forwards he would be pressed against me.

When he had finished, he looked up. Because I had been looking down at his hands working the whole time, this decision of his made my ice grey eyes look into his deep blue which were just inches away. Suddenly the air in our room had disappeared and my heart was beating loud enough for us both to hear. With an undignified splutter of some kind of excuse I had tried to break the tension that had arisen in the room but John didn't move. After what I had been sure was a moment too long to be considered normal my legs finally began moving again and I broke eye contact, rushing out of the room and down the corridor.

After that I had made sure not to let that awkward moment of weakness repeat itself but I still couldn't stop the blushing and the goofy smiling only John seemed to be able to lure out of me. To be honest this loss of control over my own body was quite alarming.

John spots a café some twenty yards ahead of us and asks if I would like a coffee. I answer with a shrug and we make our way to the building.

"What do you want then?" He asks while we wait for the cashier by the counter.

"Just coffee." I answer while I examine the rest of the place. It's a small shop with a lot of tables, all in a different style, scattered across the space. It's clean, cheap and what most people would describe as 'homey'.. I wonder if John likes the place or if he just picked the first café he came across.

While I've been taking in the surroundings John has ordered and is now nudging me with his elbow, a cup of tea and a plate with a bisque in his hands.

"Earth to major Holmes, your coffee is done."

I pick up my cup and follow him outside where we choose a table in the sun. Halfway down in my seat my brain alerts me of something. We are two persons, having a coffee and a cup of tea, at a 'homey' café. This would certainly count as a 'date' in most peoples eyes and judging by the way the cashier is looking at us she thinks so as well.

"Is this a date?" I ask, finding that I wouldn't really mind if it were. John, who had been sipping his tea when I asked, chokes and begins coughing.

When he has calmed down he raises his hands defensively and calmly says, "no, this is just two friends, having a coffee together. Nothing more." My heart drops a bit at his words but I keep my emotionless mask firmly in control.

The tension is somewhat awkward around the table and neither John nor I say anything for several minutes. When an old woman walks past us across the street John leans in and asks with a whisper what I can deduce about her. Momentarily frozen by John's sudden closeness it takes awhile for me to register his request. When my brain is back online I tell him about how the lady owns at least three cats and that she is married, although no longer happily so. John then points to a young man on a bicycle a few yards from the lady and I proceed to deduce his story as well.

This continues, John asks me about a person and I deduce what I can about him or her. Soon we find ourselves in barely contained laughter when during my deductions, John joined in after the fourth, escalating them from improbable to just plain silly.

When I announce that the man delivering goods in front of us is a criminal mastermind by night, John lets out a loud laughter and I feel my inside go all gooey. That's when it suddenly dawns on me. It's like being hit with a frying pan going in slow motion. I can see it moving towards me but there is nothing I can do to stop the uncomfortable truth from hitting me, I can't duck, or move away, or alter the path of the revelation. And then John looks at me and smiles his wonderful smile and the truth comes washing over me like a tidal wave.

I, Sherlock Holmes, am in love with John Watson.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enormous thanks to my beta The Science of Seduction over on FF.net :)
> 
> My finals are starting this Monday so I have no idea when the next chapter could be up :( If you want updates on how the chapters are going just check my tumblr. The link is in the description on my profile page.
> 
> Reviews are highly appreciated :)
> 
> Love
> 
> /Phin


	5. Decisions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again. This chapter has taken ages to upload and I'm sorry for that. It has mostly been so because I'm lazy and because my beta is moving.
> 
> WARNINGS for this chapter: Slight Homophobia, metions of past drug use and mentions of non graphic violence. We also have a slight OOC warning on this chapter, it's really hard to write the characters in character when they're in such and OOC place, age and all that so I apologize if John of Sherlock seem OOC and if you feel that it's too much please tell me and I will try to change it for the better :)
> 
> Now I'm going to shut up so you can all enjoy the chapter

The clock on John's bedside blinks with the numbers 02:39 and I let out a content sigh. It's the third night in a row that I'm up, though I would usually be asleep. I normally sleep every second to third day so as not to dull my mind but this night I will do anything to not fall asleep. Despite the fact I haven't felt my foot for two hours and eleven minutes and my back is aching uncomfortably against the headboard, I still can't find it in me to complain.

Never before have I been able to stay this still and quiet for so long without any mental stimulation and still not be bored. During the nights I spend awake I always occupy my mind with the violin -I've stopped with that now that John's living with me, he may like the violin but it's not worth to push it- or a book.

The reason why I don't need this kind of stimulation tonight is entirely because of John, always so calm and peaceful. He is currently taking up the bottom quarter of my bed, sleeping soundly with my right leg trapped under his back and his feet resting on the floor. He has a blanket draped around his body and a pillow under his head, both of which I fetched from his bed and arranged when I was sure the movement wouldn't wake him up.

John has been tired during the past week. School has been hard on him and many evenings had turned to the next morning before he was in bed. So when he returned from rugby practise this evening -five minutes to ten, later than normal due to the fact that their first match is next week- he was exhausted.

With the precise fumbling of a teenager doing something on autopilot he had changed into his pyjamas and then proceeded to collapse across my bed, effectively trapping my right ankle and shin under his back. He had then mumbled something close to "Oh god. I am sooo tired I could just fall asleep here." I hadn't been sure about his words because my mind had been solely focused on the feeling of John against my leg at the time.

Despite it being somewhat uncomfortable to have John resting on my leg, I had decided to allow him to stay, but after five minutes I had noticed that John had indeed fallen asleep. I had considered waking him up, as both of us will have killing backaches in the morning, but after carefully weighing my pros and cons -pros being John sleeping on my bed all night and cons being John not sleeping with me all night- I had came to the decision that I should let John continue with his sleep, and that had led us to being where we are right now.

As I sit here and observe the slow rise and fall of John's chest, I can't help but wonder what it would be like to have John sleeping with me every night. This is of course an impossibility, John could never love me and I should be ever so grateful that he is my friend but still, a boy can dream.

That is also something new that has come with this being in love business. Dreaming and creating impossible scenarios in one's head has always seemed like a waste of time for me, something other people indulged in when they weren't satisfied with the life they lived. I have never understood the appeal in creating something fictional in one's head when you could never obtain your creation in real life, until John showed up. Now I've realised that these dream scenarios are quite pleasant actually, and even though they leave a hollow feeling in my chest they're better than nothing at all.

John stirs a bit in his sleep and I hold my breath, hoping that he won't wake up. He mutters something but I can't make out what he's saying, his words swallowed by the silence filling our room. He stops moving and I exhale. The clock next to me blinks with 02:46, our room is silent and John is sleeping in my bed.

 

* * *

 

I am reading on my phone about a murder in London when the alarm rings and wakes John with a jerk. With a groan he slowly sits up, clutching his back while doing so.

"God, my back," he cracks his spine as if to emphasise his point. "Why didn't you wake me up?"

I pretend I didn't hear the question, because how would I answer that without causing some kind of suspicion in John?

"Sherlock," he gives me a stern look.

"I don't know what you're talking about," I tell him, hiding my face behind my phone.

"I slept on you, the whole night," I suppress the smile threatening to take over my face at his words, "and you, honest to God, didn't notice,"  
The bubbly feeling in my chest disappears when I hear the tone in his voice. He's annoyed with me.

With an angry huff, John gets off the bed and walks over to the wardrobe, quickly grabbing a uniform before locking himself in the bathroom. I can hear the familiar rush of water as the shower starts and the thought of John, naked, in the shower, washing himself, makes something purr in my abdomen. With a blush, I realise what's happening to my body and I plant my feet on the mattress and draw my knees to my chest to hide my...problem.

I've always prided myself in my control over my body and mind, thinking I was above the rest of humanity with their _hormones_ and _emotions,_ but had I known that all it took was a blond, rugby playing 17 year old to turn me into one of them, I would have made sure John and I never got closer than acquaintances.

The logical part of my brain tells me it's all chemistry. The correct amount of pheromones, dopamine, norepinephrine, and serotonin in my system will cause me to feel what is known as 'love'. When in love, these chemicals will stimulate the pleasure centre in my brain, causing increased heart rate, sweaty palms, excitement and this infuriating blushing when I see the person I'm in love with. John.

The erection- I ignore the fact that my blush increases at this thought- and the lust that comes with it is caused by testosterone. The corpora cavernosa, become engorged with venous blood, making the penis stiffen.

Despite knowing well and truly what's causing me to feel and react this way I have never been more confused and insecure in my life. The thought that someone can have this sort of control over my mind and body is both scary and deeply frustrating.

I am abruptly brought out of my thoughts as John once again enters the room, already dressed in his uniform and ready to go. He gives me a pointed look before grabbing his bag, shoving some books into it and walking out the door, leaving me alone.

I stare after him as he exits the room, feeling a bit rejected. Had I known that he would react in this way, I would have made sure he had never even fallen asleep in my bed. Well, it was he who chose to lay on my bed, if he'd had anything similar to a brain in that head of his he would had known that he would fall asleep as soon as he laid down. Now that I think about it, it is easy to tell that this is really all his fault. He chose to fall asleep on my bed, I did not force him. If he had wanted to sleep in his bed he should have made sure that's where he was located. Besides, the pressure he put on my leg cut of the blood circulation and it has still not completely returned.

A voice in the back of my head tells me that this is not the case and that I shouldn't have allowed John to suffer just because I have some infuriating crush on him but I conveniently pretend I cannot hear this and push the voice into the back of my mind.

My problem has resolved itself, so I simply change my shirt before locating my blazer and tie on my desk and pull them on. I grab my bag and slam the door a bit too hard on my way out. Deciding to ditch breakfast -if John had wanted me there he should had said so, not that it mattered to me anyway- I make my way to the library. Finding the whole building more or less abandoned, I walk over to my usual table in the far back, behind a big shelf full of books about ancient Greece.

I check the time on my phone -a quarter to eight, forty five minutes before mathematics starts- and pull out my English homework. It's annoyingly easy and I finish after only five minutes. I look around the room once before pulling out my phone and starting a game of Angry Birds.

After seven levels, I hear someone loudly mimic the characteristic cry a bird gives when you fling it, and a second later I something hits me in the head and I drop my phone, startled.

"Headshot!" Jim exclaims, raising his hands in a gesture of victory. He rushes off into a short sprint and throws himself on the table, sliding over and coming to a perfect stop in front of my chair.

"Hello Sherlock," he greets as I retrieve my phone and emerge from under the table.

"Jim."

"You've been ignoring me lately," he rolls onto his back and inspects his nails.

"What do you want?"

"What makes you think I have an ulterior motive? Maybe I just want to hang out with my friend."

"We're not friends," I inform him and he looks at me with a look of hurt surprise.

"Sherlock, I'm _hurt,_ " he mocks and I roll my eyes. When neither of us say anything, he continues, "you've been spending an awful lot of time with that John boy lately."

"So?"

"Well it's not like you to get attached to people like that, not after last summer."

"Don't," I warn him, trying to control the feelings threatening to take over at the memory.

"But why not?" He whines, "we had so much fun after that. You're not nearly as fun now compared to when you're high," he giggles a bit and then lets out a sigh, "you're so boring now, even more since you met Johnny boy"

I raise my eyebrow questioningly.

"I really don't see why you have him around. I mean he doesn't do anything, does he?" He slides off the table and adds, mostly to himself, "maybe I should get one myself, could be fun."

"What do you want, Jim?" I ask, tired of him circling the topic.

"You," he gives me a piercing look, but I refuse to look away, "you and I could rule this school if we wanted," all the joy in his voice has disappeared and instead of giggly-friendly he is now cool and threatening.

"Why would I want to rule the school?"

"Not only the school. By the time I get out of this _prison,_ I will have web connected to the most powerful people in London. If you joined me, _we_ could be the most powerful people in the whole of England before graduation."

I open my mouth to protest but before I can get a word out he turns around and begins to walk away.

"Think about it," he calls over his shoulder before disappearing behind a shelf.

 

* * *

 

A week has passed since my conversation with Jim, and his words still echo in my head. It is not that I'm tempted to accept his offer, I really can't see the appeal of the criminal sector. No, what bothers me is that he can hold by past over my head, use it to control me. It was a dark period in my life, I let my emotions control my mind and I have sworn to never let that happen again. You are better off without emotions, caring is not an advantage.

 _You care about John,_ a voice reminds me. It's true, I care about John, I do not show it or act on it in any way John or someone else could see, but that doesn't change the fact that I do care about John, deeply.

John has forgiven me, or at least I think he has, for not waking him up last week. He didn't talk to me during the day but later that evening John didn't mention it and spoke to me like he usually does so I assumed that we were okay, so to say. Neither of us have mentioned it since then and-

"Sherlock!"

Speaking of the devil. I look up and see John walking towards me. I am sitting in the library, my biology class was cancelled, and I'm working on a chemistry essay about different poisons. Quite fascinating, actually.

"There you are. I was waiting for you outside 104 C."

Oh, right. I was supposed to meet up with John after biology and then help him with his chemistry essay.

"Biology got cancelled," I answer as an explanation. He sits down next to me and begins pulling out books and paper from his bag.

"Well, you could have texted me," his pencil case is thrown on the table and pencils, erasers and pens come come flying out of it. A sharpener lands and spills its contents all over my notes.

"Yes," I try to brush off as much of the stuff I can but the tiny pieces of graphite smudge under my hand and leave grey lines all over my notes. John looks up from where he's still trying to produce the correct books from his bag and sees my essay.

"Oh, sorry."

"It's fine."

John finally gets hold of his chemistry book and slams it on the table. With an exaggerated huff he opens his notebook and begins his essay.

We spend the next hour in almost silence. John asks me about different kinds of carbohydrates a few times and I explain but otherwise there is no conversation going on between the two of us. Around four thirty John groans and throws his head back.

"Aaaaargh, this is so boring." He draws the 'o's out and makes little sobbing noises in the end. He then more or less slams his head against the table. I make a little humming noise to show that I have noticed his despair.

"Can't you do it for me?"

"No."

"Please?"

"No."

"Pretty please with sugar on top?" He looks up at me with big eyes. I know he's doing the kicked puppy look and therefore make sure I don't look at him, not sure that I wouldn't give in to him if I did.

"The physical appearance of the please makes no difference."

"Fine, Mr. Smartarse. I need to go anyway, rugby practise," he begins gathering his paper and I stop writing. I'm not done with my essay yet, but...I don't want to stay here when John leaves. Angry with myself for letting my feelings control my mind, I begin packing away my things as well.

"You're going too?" John asks and throws his bag over his shoulder. I give him a nod. He smiles at me and I feel all anger inside me disappear to be replaced by something akin to butterflies.

"Great. I just need to find this book," he walks over to the fictional part of the library and begins searching for the right shelf. He eventually finds it -U to Z- and starts reading the title of every book. Honestly, doesn't he know how to find a book?

"What's it called?"

"Hmm?"

"The book."

"Oh," John stops his search and looks back at me, "'Around the World in Eighty Days'," He turns back and resumes his search, "Werner, or something like that. German I think," he adds and I roll my eyes.

"Jules Verne, and he's French," I can see the book from where I stand, its bright red cover practically shouting out its location, "six feet to your right."

"You sure?"

"Yes, I can see it. Six feet to your right."

John walks to his right, passing the book, and begins searching again, "what, here?"

"No, a bit to your left, the one with the red cover."

He now moves a few steps to the left and looks for a red book, "I can't find it," he calls after a moment.

"It's right there, third shelf from the top," I point at the book. It's more or less in eye level with John so he should see it any time soon but then again, I have overestimated his abilities to spot the obvious before.

His finger drags over the books, once again passing the correct one, and he calls, "Where?"

"It's right there."

"Where?"

"There. No, you just...John! Seriously?"

"I can't find it, Sherlock," he laughs. I roll my eyes when I realise he's only pretending to not see the book, but I still feel a smile tug at my lips.

"It's right there, next to the blue one."

"Here?" He asks, pointing at the book next to the one he wants.

"There," I point again.

"Here?" He's now pointing at one on the shelf beneath, grinning like an idiot while doing so.

"There," I laugh and walk over to John. I pull out the book and hand it to John with the best 'I weep for humanity' look I can muster while trying not to laugh.

"Wow Sherlock, did you find it with your great powers of observation?"

"Ha ha, very funny," I answer but the sarcasm goes to waste considering we're both giggling like schoolgirls.

"Out walking the dog?" A voice calls from behind us. I turn and see Jim resting against a shelf, a smug smile in his lips.

"The dog?" John asks from my side, frowning and looking at me for explanation.

"Yes, the dog," He pushes away from the shelf and begins walking towards us, "isn't that true, Sherlock? Walking little Johnny boy here," He pats John on the head in mock affection a few times before John quickly slaps his hand away, but all this earns him is a few tuts from Jim.

"What do you want, Jim?" I say, boredom filling my voice.

"Have you considered my offer?" He smiles a crooked smile, but his eyes are dead.

"Yes, and I say no."

"What offer?" John wonders from my side but neither Jim nor I pay him any attention.

"You do, Sherlock? Are you sure?"

I answer with a glare.

"Maybe you should reconsider. I mean, you don't particularly seem to enjoy being locked into cleaning closets and it would really be a pity if that were to happen again," Moriarty absently inspects his fingers while speaking and then glances up at me with mock pity in his eyes.

It's true, being locked inside a cleaning closet isn't very enjoyable and judging from the threatening tone in Jim's voice this isn't the only thing he would think 'a pity' of if happening to me. But I won't let him bully me into this.

"My answer is no."

"Really, Sherlo-"

"His answer is no," John interrupts, giving Jim an icy look, "so just sod off."

Both Jim and I stare at John who stands his ground.

"You need to control your pet, Sherlock!" Jim laughs, obviously surprised that John dared to speak.

I open my mouth to retort when John takes my hand. My brain quickly erases all trace of a witty comeback and is instead filled with _John's hand, John is holding your hand, your hand, is in John's._ I don't notice John walking away and when something tugs at my hand I quickly follow in the direction of the tugging, not wanting to lose the feeling of John's warm hand in mine. I try to catalogue every second and every feeling of this moment. Try to catalogue John's warmth, how his hand fits so perfectly inside mine, how he squeezes a tiny bit when I don't keep up.

Far too soon we reach the exit and John lets go, walking away as if nothing happened. I save as much of the catalogued data in my brain as possible but I can already feel the memory fading. I wish I could save every moment like that.

 

* * *

 

Thursday 20th of September: a hand on my shoulder as I explain the concept of how to produce esters.

Sunday 23th of September: leaning against me as he laughs over a joke (can't remember which joke).

Monday 24th of September: shows me how one rugby tackles (I still feel his hand on my stomach).

Wednesday 26th of September: Hand on shoulder again.

Saturday 29th of September: What can only be described as wet dream about John (need to take care of my 'problem' in the shower later).

Sunday 30th of September: Gave me a rugby tackle after I teased him, John brushing leaves out of my hair later.

Tuesday 2nd of October: Takes my hand and pulls me away again (can't remember reason).

Wednesday 3rd of October: leans against me and rests his head on my shoulder when he doesn't understand his maths problem.

Friday 5th of October: Grabs my arm and pushes me in front of him to show me something.

 

* * *

 

Finally, the pressure leaves my chest and David walks away, laughing as he does. I cough, trying to regain my breath, and roll onto my side. Charlie stomps forcefully in the puddle of mud next to me, sending splatter dirt on my already blood covered face.

Moriarty's threat had been very real, and since our conversation in the library my bullying has increased. The shouts of 'wanker', 'faggot' and the more imaginative 'freakenstein' in the corridors have been more frequent but the words don't (hurt) bother me any more. Unfortunately the beatings still hurt, but I mostly find them tedious.

I raise my hand and press against the cut above my eyebrow, which is bleeding freely. With a groan I sit up and manoeuvre myself out of the mud. I run a mental damage check and find that aside from my cut the only other injury will be a bruise on my chest from where David pushed the air out of my lungs with his shoes.

With a deep breath, I rise to my feet. Suddenly, the world starts to spin and black spots dance before my eyes. I stumble a few steps to my left and find a wall I can lean against, wincing as my sore shoulders make contact with the hard concrete. I make a mental note to not try to move while oxygen deprived.

I rest my head against the wall, my mud drenched hair squashing against the surface, and close my eyes, breathing slowly and controlled. My respiration slowly returns to normal and I no longer feel as if I'm breathing through a straw.

Maybe my decision to come here and wait for John to finish his rugby practise hadn't been the best one I've made. After all, I knew that John's team mates inevitably would be here and that there was no way for them not to notice me unless I climbed up the tree outside the gymnasium, which I never would. I once again curse my inability to keep my emotions from controlling my mind.

Finally the doors to my right open and John steps out with his hair damp from the shower, and I can't help but smile. However, my smile falls when John sees my face and I see rage bubble up inside him. Didn't he want me here? Isn't this what friends do, wait for each other? Maybe it isn't and I have just revealed my true feelings for him?

"What the fuck happened to you?" He growls outraged, indicating my state with his hand.

Too revealed to think through my answer, I say, "it's nothing."

"What do you mean 'nothing'? Sherlock, you're bleeding!"

"Well, it is bound to stop so there is nothing to worry about."

"Oh, no, no," John begins walking towards me, "you don't pull that crap on me. You," he points a steady finger at me, "are coming with me. And we're going to wash that cut and you are not going to complain," he takes me by the arm and begins to drag me towards the entrance of the gymnasium. I find myself following far too easy for my liking, but at the same time I find it hard to care when John is touching me.

I soon find myself in the boys locker room, the smell of sweat and damp filling my nostrils. John has thrown his bag on one of the benches and is now rummaging through it. I briefly wonder what he's searching for, but seconds later he pulls out an oatmeal coloured jumper and throws it on the bench. He then walks out of the room, determination in his eyes, and I creep to the side to see where he's going.

When he returns, he's carrying a first aid kit- probably the rugby team's- which he puts down next to me.

"Take off your shirt," he commands, and I suddenly find it harder to breathe properly, the air seems caught in my lungs and I am quite sure the room is hotter than before.

"What?" I ask, so irate that my voice lacks its usual low pitch.

"Sherlock, you can't honestly walk around in that, it's drenched. You're going to catch a cold." He explains, sounding irritated.

Oh. Right. Of course. I shrug off my blazer and begin to unbutton my shirt, the buttons slip through my fingers, but I can't tell if it's because the buttons are slippery or because my hands are shaking ever so slightly.

When I'm finished, I hesitate to remove my shirt, for the first time feeling self conscious about showing my body to someone else. John notices my hesitation and rolls his eyes.

"I promise not to look," he says sarcastically, and after a few seconds I shrug off my shirt as well. I reach for the jumper next to John's bag, assuming that he meant for me to wear it instead of my clothes.

"Shower." John points at the showers with one hand and pinches the bridge of his nose with the other.

I look at John, then down at my still clad legs, and then back at John, not being able to comprehend what he means.

"In my...trousers?"

"No, bend over," I try to ignore the tingle going down my spine at these words, "and wash your hair. I'm not going to let you ruin one of my best jumpers."

I walk over to the showers, feeling uncharacteristically sheepish, and turn on the water. It's ice cold but I don't wait, wanting to get the now caked mud out of my hair and hoping that the cold water will kick start my brain which seems to have gone on strike since John told me to remove my shirt.

When I'm finished John, who seems a bit calmer now, throws a towel at me and I begin to dry my hair. John starts to go through the first aid kit and I walk over to him, watching as he pulls out various different bottles and plasters.

"Jumper," he mumbles and jerks his head in the general direction of his jumper. I pull it on and, finding that it's slightly too small for me, try to pull it down as far as it goes.

"On the bench," he says next and I sit down on the bench, still fiddling nervously with the hem of John's jumper. I feel slightly out of control but at the same time I feel very safe with John in my presence. Sweet, wonderful John who seems to stop at nothing to defend or help me. I sometimes wonder if he has some kind ulterior motive with befriending me, but there are other times, like this, when I am convinced that he cares for me almost as deeply as I do.

"Okay, so I need to wash your cut and then put on a plaster and all that. I'm sure you know the routine," he says and damps a cotton pad with disinfectant which he then moves slowly towards my forehead.

"This might sting a bit," John states, his tongue sticking out in a countenance of concentration.

It does sting, and I wince slightly at the sensation, but when I hear John's mumbles of 'sorry' and I open my eyes all of my attention becomes focused on John and I can't feel the sting or the pain any longer.

John's face is barely inches away from mine and I can feel his hot breath against my damp forehead. He's concentrating on getting little pieces of dirt out of the wound and doesn't appear to see me, for which I am glad. Because if he looked at me right now I am sure my face would display all the feelings bubbling inside of me.

I realise that I could easily kiss him right now. All it would take is for me to take hold of his

head, angle my head slightly higher and pull him towards me. I feel my fingers jerk at the thought and the bubbling inside of me increase, as if I have drunk a gallon of soda.

The pad suddenly leaves my forehead and I quickly arrange my face into my normal mask of indifference as John moves away. He fetches a plaster and moves in once again but this time he takes hold of my head and I can feel my heart rate rise with each passing seconds. Oh how I wish he would care for me as I do for him.

John then slowly strokes a thumb over my wound, an action I know is completely unnecessary, and I am filled with conviction that John indeed loves me. It has been so obvious. The compliments, the attention, the touches, how have I not seen this? In any other situation I would have been furious with myself for not noticing something so obvious but right now I'm filled with a close to euphoric feeling.

I am convinced. John _likes_ me.

And it is with that conviction I rise as soon as John's hand has left my skin and I take his head between my palms and I kiss him. It's glorious. It's like someone let loose a thousand butterflies in my stomach and fireworks going off inside my head and I may or may not be soaring.

John still hasn't let go so I continue to kiss him, my lips moving slowly and hesitantly against his and for a moment I'm sure he kisses me back but then John's hands are on my shoulders, pushing me away, and I can feel my world start to crumble.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Suddenly, CLIFFHANGER!!! (or so I hope)
> 
> Betaing is done by the lovely [The Science of Seduction](http://www.fanfiction.net/u/2250475/The_Science_Of_Seduction), check her out ;)
> 
> I just want to thank you all for the response this story has gotten, it's amazing :D 
> 
> As always all kinds of comments are welcomed and very much appreciated :)
> 
> Love  
> /Phin


	6. Bless you

**Hello :) Sorry for the long wait but there has been some internet problems surrounding this chapter.**

**Warnings in this chapter: Mentions of past bullying.**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing and I make no money. I'm only having a good time.**

**Now, enjoy the chapter :)**

* * *

John _still hasn't let go so I continue to kiss him, my lips moving slowly and hesitantly against his and for a moment I'm sure he kisses me back but then John's hands are on my shoulders, pushing me away, and I can feel my world start to crumble._

I search his face for some kind of explanation as to why he pushed me away, any kind of explanation involving him liking me, but instead I find that his face is scrunched up in some kind of grimace.

I turn around and walk away, carefully holding a steady and calm pace even though it feels as if my insides have imploded, that all that's left is a big black hole and all I want to do is to escape John, and that feeling, as fast as possible.

When I turn around the corner my pace quickens, and soon it can no longer be considered as either calm or steady. It hurts a bit to breathe, but I figure that's just the harsh October evening stinging in my lungs, the same air producing the tears in my eyes. Behind me the door slams open again and I don't have to turn around to know that John has followed me.

"Sherlock, wait!" He calls out behind me, but I do not slow down. I can't see why he would feel the need to talk to me now, there can be nothing but mockery coming from his mouth and since we'll be living together for the rest of the school year there will be plenty of time for him to mock me.

"Sherlock, Wait! Let me just explain!" John tries again and his voice is much closer this time. I try to speed up, but find that if I were to move faster I would be running and looking running away like some heartbroken ten year old girl isn't something I would want to do right now.

"Sherlock!" John's hand grabs hold of my arm and spins me around forcefully.

"What?" I spit in John's face, tearing my arm free of his grip, "What can you possibly want from me? Are you just here to laugh in my face?" I use my full length to glare down at him, making both my voice and stance as threatening as possible.

"No, Sherlock, just-"

"Ha!" I scoff, "Just what? Wait till you've figured out which joke you want to use. 'Like sucking cock, faggot?' Hmm? 'You take it up the arse?' I've heard them all. It's not like anyone with a brain like yours could ever come up with something original."  
I know I'm acting childish, and I know that this kind of mocking would usually be something I considered miles beneath me, but right now I'm finding it hard to care. The harsh words slip from my tongue too easily, a habit forced upon me by years of bullying. To hurt before I get hurt.

"I was just-"

"Because that's what you are, John. Another brainless moron. And to think I used to envy your calm mind. Me! How could I ever envy someone like you with a-"

"It was a bloody sneeze, Sherlock!" John's outburst cuts me short and stops what would have been the killing strike, "I fucking needed to sneeze, Sherlock, and I didn't want you to get covered in snot," John's face shows no dishonesty or any trace of lying, just slight annoyance and I find that I can't quite grasp the words that has just been said.

"You sneezed," I hear myself say and in my mind the same words are repeated over and over again.

"Yes, that's why I pushed you away."

"You needed to sneeze and therefore pushed me away."

"Yes Sherlock. Gee, what is it with you tonight? It's like your brain is offline or something," John laughs and I find a smile spreading across my face.

"Come on, let's go back. It's freezing outside," he mumbles, turning around. I follow and together we head back towards the B-building, the cold October air ruffling our hair.

When we reach the building, John begins searching his pockets for the key and I stop and wait for him. After a minute of searching, he suddenly stops and hides his face in his hands.

"I forgot the key in my gym bag, which I forgot in the gym hall," he says with a groan. I pull out my key and absently toss it towards him. The key hits his arm and lands on the ground with a pathetic thud and things suddenly turn rather awkward.

"You can borrow mine," I say after a moment of silence and John bends down with a muttered 'thanks'. While he unlocks the door, I realise that maybe things might have gone smoother if I had unlocked the door myself from the beginning.

It's ten minutes to eleven which, according to school rules, is past bedtime but noise can still be heard from almost every room we pass. The lights however are out in the corridor and neither of us turn them on in case a teacher were to pass. Halfway up the stairs John once again stops and in the dim light I nearly walk straight into him.

"How does these room numbers even work?" He whispers and holds up the key with the metal plate marked 221B, "I mean, what does it stand for?"

I roll my eyes and give him a small push to show that he needs to keep going. "The letter stands for which building the room is located in. The first number shows which floor in the building the room is located on, and the other numbers stand for which room on that floor," I whisper back, giving John another push when he stops once again to look at the key.

We finally reach our door and I take the key, which John is still studying, from his hands so I can unlock the door. I consider for a moment to lock John out as revenge for him being so slow, but then decide against it. He did kiss me, after all. I place my key in my blazer pocket and throw myself on my bed, only to sit up the next second, wondering if John wants to talk about what has just happened.

"It said freak," John says as he closes the door, his voice a bit thicker than usual.

"What?"

"The key. Someone had crossed out 221B and written 'freak' on it. You could barely see it but..." He trails off and looks at me with pity in his eyes. I hold his gaze until he looks away, hating that he thinks me pitiful, hating that he thinks I'm weak.

He is correct though, the key once said 'freak'. During my first month at this school the key was stolen and some moron thought it funny to cross out 221B and write freak instead. I remember spending oven an hour desperately trying to wash away the ink without much success before throwing the key through the window, not wanting to see it again.

I scoff at the memory. I was just a stupid little boy back then, filled with emotions and so desperate to be liked. I had learnt later that there is no need to be liked or to have friends, they only serve to slow you down or act as a burden. Although, having John is nice... but John is different. John listens and tells me I'm clever and never tries to stop me from doing something I need to do. He is clever as well, unlike the rest of this school. Or the rest of the world for that matter.

"It's nothing," I say with a wave of my hand. John gives me a reluctant look before sitting down opposite me. He opens his mouth, but then closes it with again and shifts a bit on his bed. I raise an eyebrow at him as he repeats the routine.

"So..." he begins, drawing out the 'o', "why did you kiss me?"

"I..." Words fail me and I suddenly feel very uncomfortable in my skin. I don't do this, I don't talk about emotions. They're only different concentrations of chemicals in my brain, it's not something worth wasting time talking about. But right now the only reason to why I kissed John is emotions.

"Does it matter?" I ask and the moment John looks up at me I realise that this was about the worst thing I could have said at the moment.

"Does it matter? Of course it matters, Sherlock!" He hisses at me, an angry frown on his face. When I stay quiet he throws his hands up in exasperation and sighs heavily, "You know what, just forget it. Just forget it ever happened."

"Wait! I-" I clear my throat, "that is to say I didn't just kiss you because I thought it would bring an amusing reaction from you or...that...I...There are...I have-" I force out, trying to somehow say that I have feelings for John without saying that I have emotions. I clear my throat again.

"I find your presence desirable. I have found that lately I seek your companionship more regularly and I sometimes find that you- That the contact between our skin gives me an interesting reaction which I don't find repulsing. I kissed you because I have observed an equal behaviour in you and I wished to prove my hypothesis," I gush out, feeling a slight blush creeping up my cheeks.

When I force myself to look up and meet John's eyes, because surely he would have laughed at me or hit me by now if he hadn't liked what he heard, I find that they're looking back at me with a mix of confusion and amusement.

"Okay..." He sucks air through his teeth and rubs his neck, "Let's see if I've got this right. Just... just nod or shake your head or whatever," he shifts positions once more before looking me squarely in the eyes and letting out a little giggle.

"You kissed me to see if I like you?"

I nod.

"And you like me?" He asks hopefully.

"...If I were to answer yes would you share the same opinion on me?"

"Is that the Sherlock way of asking whether I like you or not?"

I nod.

"Well yes, I like you. Very much actually," he answers with a small smile. Suddenly, it feels as if someone has let loose a thousand butterflies in my chest and stomach.

"Well, good. I... very much like you too," I say, trying to sound somewhat indifferent but not managing as well as I hoped for.

"Boyfriends, then?" John asks cautiously and I nod once again. We sit in silence for a moment before we both simultaneously burst out laughing. Everything about this situation feels ridiculously silly and wonderfully amazing at the same time.

"God," John breathes between laughs, "I feel like I'm eight again, asking a random girl if she wants to be my girlfriend," he breaks into giggles again but I feel the laughter coming from my throat becoming forced. Am I just some random boy?

John seems to sense my unease and grabs my hand, muttering 'come here' and pulling me over to his bed. I sit down next to where he's laying, not really knowing what to do. John looks up at me and pats the bed next to him and I gingerly lay down, wondering where this is going.

John takes my hand and shifts a bit to left, giving me more space in the narrow bed. The jolt of not exactly electricity but something alike goes from my hand and up through my arm and I smile a little inside.

We lay like this for a moment, not doing anything except just being close to each other, before John utters "This is quite nice actually." and turns over to face me, his head resting in his hand. I turn my head and look up at him, humming a little in acknowledgement.

He hesitates for a second before bending down and capturing my lips in a kiss. I freeze for a second before melting against his lips. This time around it's him kissing me, I'm being kissed by John, by my John. His lips move against mine and I hesitantly begin kissing back, my hands rising to grab hold of his shoulders.

We shift so I'm now laying underneath John, who is laying half on top of me, one arm on each side of my face. He begins to kiss with more earnest this time and I can feel sparks shooting down my spine. His tongue swipes over my top lip and I part my lips, a small moan escaping. I move my hands from John's shoulders and down his back as his tongue explores my mouth.

It feels amazing. The taste of John, the warmth from his breath, the feel of him beneath my hands. I want to stay in this moment forever, just kissing and never moving again. He nibbles on my bottom lip and I hum deep in my throat. My hands are now tangled in his hair and his left hand is placed firmly on my hip.

Soon, far too soon, John moves away and in a last bold attempt to make him stay I suck hard on his tongue, which earns me a gasp of both surprise and pleasure. I close my eyes in a prolonged blink, trying to hold onto the feelings within me.

When I open my eyes I am met by a slightly panting John, his lips red from kissing and his hair a frazzled mess. He rolls off me and we once again lay side by side, staring at the yellow spots caused by an experiment with iodide covering the ceiling.

"It's late. We'd better..." John says after a minute, sitting up and motioning towards our beds. Oh, yes. Bedtime. John sleeps regularly every night. I get up and perch myself on my bed, still feeling a bit dazed from earlier.

After ten minutes, John is under the covers and the lights are out, leaving the room almost completely dark. I lay down on my side, facing John's back, and with my finger I trace the shape of my lips, remembering how John's lips had felt against mine. A smile spreads over my lips as it finally sinks in that this isn't a one-off, that this is actually happening, that John is my boyfriend.

* * *

**Huge thanks to The Science of Seduction who is my wonderful Beta reader.**

**So that was that chapter, hopefully you liked it. It was very funny for me to write so atleast I liked it.**

**Just one thing about the key toss between Sherlock and John. They have such epic throw and catch skills in the series so I thought it would be funny if they hadn't got any skills now. Okay...maybe a part of it was based on the fact that I always do as Sherlock in real life whenever I throw someone something.**

**I have already began working on the new chapter and hopefully it will be done soon :)**

Just one little thing more. This chapter was inspired by the song Little bit by Lykke Li. A link can be found on my blog (check my profile)

**Reviews are very appreciated**

**Love  
/Phin**


	7. Doctor who? and other questions

**Hello again. So sorry about the long wait and I'll try to be quicker in the future.**

**So today is my birthday and because it's a custom here in Sweden to bake a cake and share with your colleges and friends on your birthday I have provided you all with a new chapter and a piece of cyber cake. Hope you like it and enjoy the chapter :)**

**Warnings for this chapter: Mentions of violence.**

* * *

"Okay, um...favourite movie?"

"Silence of the lambs."

"Really?"

"Yes. I enjoy the psychological study."

"Well, when you put it like that it's not surprising at all," John sighs and collapses down on his bed once again, "it's a good movie though, gets in your head," he adds, scratching his head.

It's 3:17 in the afternoon on Saturday, 27th of October and it's the first day of half term. Both John and I have decided to stay in school this year, not that I would have done any different if John had decided otherwise, and it's quite nice not having so many pupils around for a change.

I've always liked half term breaks and Easter holidays, mostly because there are no imbeciles bothering me wherever I go and partially because there are no imbeciles trying to stuff my head full of useless facts that will somehow help me later in life. Before, I always travelled back home to London during the holidays but no longer and, although company should be the last thing I want, spending the week off with John is actually something I have been looking forward to.

"Sherlock?" John's voice wakes me from my musing and I raise an eyebrow at him.

"It's your turn."

Oh. John had started a game where we were to answer and ask a question each. To get to know each other better, apparently. So far I have gotten to know John's favourite book (The Hobbit), his parents name (Emma and George) and his favourite colour (blue I guess had been his answer). I didn't know why this trivia was important in a relationship but apparently it was. And since John seemed to find it important I happily participated.

"Have you had a relationship similar to ours before?"

John lets out a laugh and gives me an amused look, "You mean have I had a boyfriend before?"

"Yes."

"Well yes. David, a bloke from my old school in Leeds. Lasted for about three months or so." He says with a shrug.

"And girlfriends?" I ask, ignoring the inexplicable anger I suddenly feel towards this David I have never met in my life.

"Well two. Sarah and Jeanette."

"Sarah and Jeanette?"

"Yeah, and hey. I think that's more than one question." He goes quiet for a moment, thinking about what to ask. "So how about you? Any girlfriends? Boyfriends."

"No."

"No?"

"Yes, no."

"Really?" John sounds oddly surprised in my ears. I wonder once again if he has completely missed the way people treat me.

"There was a girl from St Leonard's sister school called Molly who showed interest in a romantic relationship with me. I considered accepting her offer as an experiment to gather data about relationships but decided against," I tell him.

When he doesn't say anything I turn my head to look at him. His brows are furrowed and he's looking down at his hands. He purses his lips before he looks up and into my eyes.

"I'm not an experiment, am I?" He asks.

I hesitate for a second before saying 'no', because surely John isn't an experiment. No. No he cannot be. I would never give out this much about myself for someone who I would later ignore. In fact I can't remember the last time I have given this much personal information to someone.

John is still looking at me with a frown and I assume he heard my hesitation. I reach over with my hand and grasps his, I do not know why but it feels like the right thing to do at the moment.

When our hands connect, he freezes for a short second before giving me a bemused look. I continue to keep an impassive face but then John is leaning over to kiss me and the moment our lips touch each other I feel myself break out in a smile.

"Okay. I can't believe I doubted you about not having a girlfriend earlier," he laughs and I silence him with another kiss.

* * *

My fingers twitch with the need for a cigarette but I force myself to not give in. I'm nervous, something I haven't been around John for a good amount of time. John doesn't seem to notice though, his eyes fixed on something far away.

We're walking along one of the many hayfields outside of Southminster, John's idea once again. He had said it would be nice to spend some time alone for once. I didn't understand, almost all the time we spend together is spent alone, either in the library or in our room, but now I see what he meant. Out here there is no one who could suddenly barge in on you, and it feels as if John and I are the only humans on this earth.

As the village disappeared out of view, John had taken my hand and hasn't let go since then, giving it a gentle squeeze from time to time. We're not talking, which I assume only adds to my nerves, both of us occupied with our own thoughts.

I take a deep breath and try to ask John the question that has been on my mind for more than a week, but the words sound silly in my head and I close my mouth again. I don't understand how it can be so hard to ask a simple question, it's only an exchange of words.

"Do you want to ask something?" John looks at me with raised eyebrows and I stop dead in my tracks. How had he known?

"You do know you are not the only one in this world who can put two and two together and come out with four. Now ask me that question."

"You said earlier that you've had three previous relationships."

"Yeah," John urges when I don't continue.

"So you're obviously experienced with this," I say and raise our joined hands to show him what I'm referring to, "I'm...not."

"...I know that," John turns towards me but I remain where I am, facing the road.

"Sherlock, where are you going with this?"

"There are a lot of people with experience at St Leonard's. Most of those unattached. Some of them homosexual."

When John doesn't say anything for a whole minute I turn around to look at him, my heart racing in my chest. John is looking at me with a confused expression, his lips pursed and his brow furrowed.

"Are you asking me why I picked you?"

"No. I-" I begin but, when I think through what I've just said I can agree that yes, I am asking John why he picked me, "well...yes."

"Okay," He sighs and scratches the back of his head. I feel as if someone has placed a black hole in my stomach, "because you're the most interesting person here. When I first met you you were rude and snappish but only at people who were rude towards you. And then I got to know you and this whole new person suddenly appeared, a person who can talk about decapitation for hours but doesn't know who the prime minister is. A person who knows everything about you in the bat of an eye but still wants to know more. A person who is sincere. You are you to 100%, you don't care what people think. And now the last few weeks you have been this person who I never thought you could be, someone who cares incredibly much and who sacrifices his own free time to do stuff you don't even want to do, yes Sherlock, I know. So yeah, I think it's all that." He finishes and licks his lips.

I stare at him in disbelief. I have never heard anyone describe me like that, and I never thought anyone would. I have always been an ounce too weird, too socially incapable and too straight-forward for friends of any kind. But then again, John has always been the mystery, the surprise and the more I reveal of John the more it seems to be to unveiled.

"And you do look incredibly good," he adds as an afterthought.

"I do?" I ask in a teasing voice, flipping my hair the way I've seen girls do when they try to impress a boy.

"Well, not when you do that," he laughs and I let out a low chuckle, "come on," he tugs at our joined hands and begins to walk. I follow, still smiling as John's words having reassured me that I'm not going to be left as soon as he finds someone else with more knowledge of relationships.

* * *

It's raining outside. Big drops of water splash against the roof and somewhere in the distance the low rumble of thunder sounds. Our beds are pushed together and John is doing something with his computer. He had been talking about some doctor in some television show and when I said didn't know who he was talking about he had proceeded to rearrange our furniture and was now looking for a bag of crisps he had bought last weekend.

"How can you not have seen Doctor Who? Have you been living under a rock?" He says as he pulls out his computer from its cover. I frown at him, wondering why anyone would name a doctor 'Who'.

"No, I haven't," I tell him, denying both of his questions.

"Really? Didn't you watch it with your parents when you were younger? It started back in '05 you know. You really can't have missed it," he informs me, sitting down next to me and making the springs in his bed groan with protest.

"I've been here since I was ten, so unless it aired during school holidays I surely have missed it."

"Well, no, it airs during school but-" John stops short and looks at me, "Ten? But I thought you wasn't allowed in here until you were eleven?"

"I skipped a year. And my parents convinced the school board to allow me a place here"

"Oh, but that means you're-"

"Seventeen, yes."

"You don't look seventeen."

"There's hardly any visible differences between eighteen year olds and seventeen year olds," I roll my eyes and John does a half hearted attempt to prove me wrong before accepting defeat and opening his laptop.

He gives me the bag of crisps to open before opening a folder named 'Doctor Who' and starting up the first episode of the first season.

Half an hour later a girl named Rose is arguing with an alien about his accent and someone called Mickey has been eaten by a garbage can. I have to admit that even though the show is clearly lacking even the most basic of logic it is entertaining, on some level.

"I have to ask you something," John says as he reaches for some crisps. I turn my head and look at him, searching his face for a clue to what he was going to ask. Unfortunately John is completely engrossed in whatever is going on on the computer screen and his face doesn't give away any clues.

"Yes?" I inquire.

"What?" He tears his eyes away from the screen to look at me.

"You were going to ask me something."

"Oh, right. I was just wondering what your parents work as, with you being able to start a year early and all..." He asks with a shrug and I can feel myself tense at his side.

"Nothing special," I say. It's not a lie, but neither is it the truth.

"What, so they work at Tesco or something?" John laughs and turns his head towards me.

"I never said that," I glare at him, telling him with my eyes to drop the subject.

"Okay okay. It's just that," He pauses and sucks on his lips, "it's just that you never tell me anything about your parents."

"There is nothing to say," I retort quickly.

"Fine. I was just asking," John sounds cross. We sit in uncomfortable silence for the rest of the episode, John staring intently at the computer screen while I try to not to fidget with the hem of my shirt sleeve. When the episode is over John snaps the computer shut and snatches the bag of crisps from my lap.

As he rises from the bed he accidentally elbows me in the side and I have to bite back a wince as pain blooms from the bruise in my side. I haven't told John about it, how Moriarty and his apes sought me out in the boys bathroom a few days ago and how Jim once again made his offer. I had once again declined and Moriarty had left with a small smile, giving David and Charlie free hands. I had been left on the floor inside one of the stalls, hair dripping wet and gasping for breath. I had skipped the rest of my classes and limped back to our room, the pain in my sides from their fists making it hard to move. There I had curled up under the covers and feigned sleep for the rest of the day. John had, of course, asked what had happened, but I hadn't answered, seeing no reason why John would need to be dragged into mine and Moriarty's conflict.

It's clear that he's still angry and I find myself at loss of what to do. How does one react when your boyfriend is mad at you? What's the correct procedure? Is there a correct procedure or is it something I will have to discover myself by careful testing of theses?

The scraping of metal against wood tells me John is in the act of moving his bed back into place. I look up and see that he has his back turned against me and I can see from the set of his stiff shoulders that he's still rather angry.

I don't understand why John is reacting this strongly to my unwillingness to tell him about my parents though. He has no right to demand answers I do not want to give and if all of the questions I refuse to answer happen to be about my parents then that is no problem of mine. I never agreed to tell John everything when we became a pair.

"Stop sulking," John mutters in annoyance. He is still not facing me, occupied with making his bed.

"I'm not sulking."

"Yes you are Sherlock, you're always sulking whenever I've asked you about your parents," John states matter-of-factly. I glare at him in response.

"I do not sulk."

"What do you call this, then?"

I give him another glare, trying and failing to come up with a clever retort. With a huff I turn over to my side and curl up a little. I don't want to talk about this, it makes my heart ache uncomfortably.

"Oh, really mature, Sherlock. You're right, this is not sulking at all," I can't see John from where I'm lying but I imagine he's sucking on his lips as he always does when he's angry with me.

I can hear him sigh and then he's speaking again, "I just want to get to know you, Sherlock. Because, at times you are this wonderfully kind person who's almost shy and sounds so, so sincere, but then I ask a personal question and you become this cold and distant person, Sherlock. And quite frankly you're behaving really childishly right now. I just," another sigh, "I just want you to trust me, Sherlock," he finishes and heavily sits down on his bed.

I stay curled up, not showing John any signs that I have even heard him.

"I need some air."

There is a rustling of clothes and a bang from the door then I'm alone. I turn around to look at the closed door, hoping that John will walk back through it even though I know John won't return until evening even though it's raining outside.

I have to admit, I feel slightly guilty for making John angry -as it's not my intention- and I wonder what I could have done to change that. But the point still stands, I don't like talking about my parents and therefore I'm not going to. Not now nor in the future. And whether I trust John or not is not going to change that.

* * *

**Huge thanks to my wonderful beta The Science of Seduction :D**

**So this chapter was more or less a fillout chapter and there will be one or two more of these before something really happens. I just want to build up their relationship and reasons and motivations for actions further on in the story so please bare with me. Oh, and there will be smut in the next chapter so you don't want to miss that ;)**

**Comments are highly appreciated**

**Love**  
/Phin  



	8. Small desires, big fires.

**So here is chapter eight :D Hope you all will like it. This chapter is for now unbetaed and if you spot any mistakes please tell me and I'll correct them. Also, this chapter is NSFW.**

**Warnings: Smut (male on male sex), Bullying, graphic descriptions of violence, blood, homophobia.**

* * *

The moment I set foot inside mine and John's room I am attacked by a pair of lips and a warm body pressing against me. A pair of hands are pressing against my shoulders, forcing me back and into the door. The hands move to my waist and the lips part, my own mimicking, and a tongue slip past my lips.

By the time I got over the shock of having John more or less throwing himself at me, hormones have already started to cloud my mind. Without my accord my hands have moved to John's shoulders, squeezing the muscles. I feel dizzy but I can't make out if it's John or the lack of air causing my lightheadedness.

John groans and presses closer to me, his tongue still exploring my mouth enthusiastically. I can vaguely make out that yeah, it's probably the lack of oxygen that's causing my legs to give out, but I can't really find it in me to care enough to break the kiss. Fortunately, or not, John pulls away with a gasp and nestles his head in the crook of my neck.

I want to say something sarcastic about how he's greeted me but what makes it past my lips is nothing more than a breathy "Hello."

John laughs and gives me a quick peck on the lips.

"Hello indeed."

His head returns to his previous position and his hands removes themselves from my waist to connect in the space left between the door and my lower back. I drop my hands from his shoulders and returns his hug.

It's nice. This, just this. Holding John close, knowing that I have someone in my life, someone who matters and to whom I matter just as much. I move my hand upwards, letting my fingers run through the hair in the nape of John's head.

Suddenly a pair of hot lips press against my neck, sucking lightly, and I can hear myself gasp. I can feel John smirk before my neck is once again attacked by his lips. My fingers have now buried themselves in John's hair, not sure whether to pull John away or to press him closer.

John's hands are sliding down my back and comes to a rest on the curve of my backside. His lips leave my throat only to move to my own lips a second later. A low rumble escapes me and I can feel how my blood is moving downwards to other areas.

John's hands suddenly squeezes and as I jerk forwards he presses himself against me, grinding his hips against mine. I gasp. The friction causing sparks to travel up my spine. I can feel John smirk against my lips and have a sudden urge to wipe that smirk away.

Feeling a bit devious I move forwards, pushing John in front of me until his legs hit the back of my bed and we both tumble down in the mess of sheets and old school clothes. As we fall John lets out a strange yelp that is replaced by laugh as soon as his back makes contact with the mattress. He continues to laugh and gives me a light punch on my chest. I bend down and kiss him, leaving a trail of kisses from his mouth down his jaw to his neck. He responds by running one hand through my hair, tugging slightly, and letting the other explore my body.

I could never have imagined being kissed and touched by another person to feel this good. I have always had a distaste for physical contact. It's uncomfortable, messy and filled with all kinds of feelings and sentiment. But now as I lie here, having John's hands caressing and grabbing at different muscles, I can't find a single trace of uncomfortability, only an intense feeling of wanting more of, of, of this.

My hands make their way down John's chest and towards the hem of his jumper. I take a breath before carefully sneaking my fingers under the fabric and feeling John's hot skin under my hands. I hesitate for a moment before I move them further up, feeling muscles twitch and goosebumps beginning to form.

I haven't done this. John has. According to himself he has plenty of experience within the field of relationships and these acts. Well maybe two girls and one boy is what most would call plenty of experience but to me it's enough to make me feel very inferior whenever we're snogging or cuddling or a mix of the two or whatever this now is. John's experience often causes him to take command, which I have found that I oddly enough like, to some extent, and this is exactly what happens now as John almost growls ' _so you want it that way_ ' and rolls us over.

His hip ends up between my thighs and I suddenly feel a blush rising on my cheeks. My fingers grip a bit harder at his shoulders and as he pulls my shirt out of my pants and begin to caress the sensitive skin below my navel I find that I have no idea whatsoever of what I'm doing.

We have travelled down this road before, but never this far. John's erection is obvious where it presses against my own and as he grinds his hip I find that everything is almost overwhelming. The sensations too much and too strong and stop but please don't.

When I was ten and accompanied my father to his office I had been left to watch people rushing by as he talked to the receptionist. There had been so many different persons and so much information about who they were. Being the person I am I had wanted to know everything about these people. Soon the information became too much and wherever I looked new facts were screaming at me to acknowledge them. The sounds became too loud and blended in with each other, my clothes had begun to feel too small and constricting, everything had just been too much. My father had needed to carry me out of the lobby and into a quiet and dark cleaning closet before I even began to recognize him.

The last thing I want right now is a repetition of that time.

John's hands have somehow unbuttoned my shirt and are now caressing my side as he sucks at my neck. I am staring at the ceiling, my body unresponsive except for twitches and squirms as John continues his movements. My hands still haven't moved from his shoulders.

"I, John I." I begin but there isn't any air in my lungs and it's so much and please don't stop John.

But John does stop, his hands coming to a halt as he raises his head and looks at me with a frown.

"Are you okay Sherlock?" He asks and I can't help but notice how his voice has dropped and how his usually so blue and beautiful irises are almost covered by his wide blown pupils.

"I haven't." I look away, unable to maintain eye contact for some reason. "This, I haven't."

"Sherlock." John's hand cups my chin and guides my head so I'm staring straight into his eyes. "Do you trust me?" He asks.

I look at him for a second, turning his question over and over in my mind but always coming to the same conclusion. "Yes."

"Then you know that if you say stop, I will stop."

I take a breath and nod. John resumes his actions, but this time they're slower, more careful, seeking out permission instead of taking it, and I feel my muscles unlock. I move my hands to John's jumper and under, caressing his strong back. John stops and quickly removes his jumper and begins unbuttoning the shirt beneath. I stare at him for a second before shrugging out of my own shirt and tossing it aside carelessly, it needed washing anyway.

Soon there is nothing more than the thin fabric of our undergarments between us. John's hips are methodically trusting against my own and his lips are kissing and nibbling at my collar bone. My left hand fingers are tangled in his hair and I'm not entirely sure where my right hand is, the pleasure and nervousness clouding my mind from anything else than John. My John. I never want this to end but I need it to, I need a release.

Pleasure is coiling deep in my abdomen and my hips are moving with John's without my will. John's hand suddenly slips inside my underwear and grasps me. I let out a moan and my hips buckle upwards. John hesitates for a second before moving his hand, short motions up and down. I take his head in my hands and places a sloppy kiss on his lips, our noses colliding and I might have bitten John a bit but it doesn't matter.

We break our kiss and John rests his forehead against mine as his hand continues to move. My hands are tightly gripping his biceps as my hips snap up, trusting into John's grip. It feels as if the world around us has disappeared and all that matters is just this, right here. John's hand feels nothing like my own despite the fact that the movement is almost identical. Everything is so much more and so intense.

John's hand suddenly leaves me and a small keening sound escapes my lips. A moment later his hand is back but it's more and when I look down I see that he's grasping both of us. My mouth opens in a silent moan as his hips move forwards.

My breath hitches as his thumb moves over the head of my penis and I pull him closer to me, trying to hold myself together as pleasure rocks my very core. I can hear John's ragged panting in my ear and I can feel his minute trembling all over.

"John!" Is all I can gasp before I'm undone. White light explodes in my head and my whole body tenses. I'm vaguely aware of John speeding up before he also suddenly stops but mostly I'm just trying not to burst.

When I resurface I find that I've pulled John so very close to me and that my feet have left the mattress and is hanging mid air, toes curled and legs locked. I let out a breath and my whole body relaxes and I feel so very tired. I shudder as John places a kiss to my temple and I turn my head to properly return his kiss.

We stay like this for a while, tangled up in each other. I some way this is better than the sex, or whatever it was. To feel John so close, just cuddled up next to me, the fingers of his left hand interlaced with the fingers of my right, our hearts beating as one, gives me a completely different kind of satisfaction.

John moves to get away but I tighten my grip on him.

"We need to clean up." He says with a laugh but I just shake my head.

"Not yet." I say and John smiles and snuggles up next to me again, taking the blanket with him.

"I guess not."

* * *

It's on a Thursday things turn from lovely to a bit not good. Since the evening they spent naked in bed everything has been pure heaven. I haven't felt like this for over a year. Sporadic outburst of happiness and unexplainable urges to just smile plague me but I can't find it within myself to complain.

But then one Thursday Jim comes, walking slowly behind David, a sly smile playing on his lips. John and I are standing under my usual tree, John talking about a commet that soposedly only is visible on earth every [insert] year. I don't tell him that I long since deleted all my knowledge about the solar system in favour of more important data, instead I watch as Jim and his gang of buffoons make their way across the lawn, moving closer and closer to us but not close enough for me to want to interrupt John's talking.

Over the years I've learnt how to blend in, how to disappear in plain sight. It's the best kind of camouflage. It's like hiding a book in a bookshelf, next to hundreds of other titles, leaving it unnoticed and ordinary.

Often, however, the effort is too much and the reward too little and I can't really bother with blending in or not, but then there are moments like this, when blending in would be a blessing. Regardless, even a book can't stay hidden in a bookshelf if someone is looking for it and it's only a matter of minutes before Jim notices me.

I turn to John to tell him we should leave. I don't want him involved in mine and Moriarty's strife. It's between the two of us and no one else. Both I and Moriarty knows this. Unfortunately, before I can even open my mouth Jim's irish accent echoes over the grass field.

"JOHN AND SHERLOCK SITTING IN A TREE. K.I.S.S.I.N.G!"

John abruptly stops his tale and looks for the source of the sound, the tip of his ears turning red. I only casts a look in Jim's direction before turning and walking the other way. It takes me a second too long for my comfort to discover that John is not following me, instead he's walking straight towards Jim. Shock paralyzes me for a moment before I'm walking after John. Did he really fall for that? Didn't he see that it's a trap?

"Oh hi Johnny boy." Jim teases, the vowels rolling on his tongue.

"Hi faggot." David barks, too focused on revelling in his own glory to notice Jim rolling his eyes.

"Just shut the fuck up, okay?" John spits as he comes into a halt in front of the three.

"Oooh, got your panties in a twist, homo?" Charlie this time, his voice high pitched and overly girly.

John is about to say something but is stopped by me laying a hand on his arm.

"Quiet." I say and give him a meaning look. He closes his mouth and stubbornly stares back.

"Listen to your boyfriend." Jim purrs, his eyes fixed on me.

"Jealous much?" I ask.

"No."

"Yes you are."

"No."

"Yes."

"Yeah okay, a little." Jim says with a shrug. "Can't help it. We would go soooo good together."

I flash Jim a fake smile. "I'm flattered by your interest but I'm, as you might have noticed, not available at the moment."

Charlie, David and John are watching with confused looks. To an outsider, our conversation can easily be mistaken for flirtation, Jim's repetition of the offer he's been giving me during the whole school year falling to deaf ears.

"You might want to reconsider that." Jim replies with a dead voice and I feel a shiver running up my back. Instead of backing down I continue to glare at him, my hand twitching next to John's, wanting to pull him away from here. Away from Jim and all the dangers that surround him, away from my past and what hopefully won't be my future.

"Fuck off!" John spits, taking a step forwards.

"You fuck off faggot!" David calls and Charlie high fives him. I restrain myself from rolling my eyes, the effort is too much for the idiocy these two morons are showing.

"I'm not gay, okay?!" John points a finger at David, his tongue darting out to wet his lips before pursuing them tightly together. He's angry, oh so angry.

"Say that to ya boyfriend!" David mocks. "Fairy"

Around us a crowd has gathered, obviously expecting a fight to break out. From the corner of my eye I can see even more pupils running towards us, wanting to know what's going on. I look at John, who's glaring daggers at David and Charlie, and decide that no, I don't want this fight to happen, I don't want John to get dragged into the same mess as I'm already in.

"Come." I say and grab John's arm, pulling lightly. At first he doesn't move but when I've walked a few steps I can hear him slowly turn around.

"What happened Johnny boy? Shercock desperate for a fuck?" David calls and I hear John stop.

"John." I call, and take another step. John doesn't continue to move and I sigh in resignation. I'm about to call his name again when I hear a moan behind me, a moan of pleasure. Then Charlie's voice is calling out John's name. I slowly turn around and feel my face flush bright read. A knot quickly forms in my stomach and there isn't enough air no matter how much I try to breath into my lunges.

Before my eyes is Charlie and David, dry humping each other. Charlie is on all fours, calling out John's name and telling him to go faster, harder and that it feels so good. His voice is pitched low, a surprisingly good impression of my own. David is on his knees behind Charlie, thrusting his hips hard towards Charlie's backside. His eye's are fixed on John and filled with pure malice.

I feel naked and exposed and so vulnerable. I can barely make out the laughter and wolf whistles from the crowd over the roaring of blood in my ears. I can take punches and harsh words, I can take loneliness and humiliation, but I can't take this. Not this. Not the display of something so purely private and something so out of my own knowledge and control. I swallow and try to regain some kind of control over this situation but when David opens his mouth and speaks again I can feel the little amount of control I've managed to regain slip away.

"Didn't know Sherlock was such a slut. Not that I'm surprised." He says in a low voice and I don't even have time to blink before John has thrown himself on David with a cry of pure fury. Charlie doubles over with laughter and I hear myself call John's name as my feet move towards him.

I grab hold of John's jumper and try to force him of David but before John can even acknowledge my presence a fist connect to the side of my face. I stumble backwards and someone shoves me forwards, the sudden change of direction causing me to trip. I land hard on my elbows and someone kicks me in the stomach. The kick makes me fall on my back and above me is Charlie, his eyes shining with hatred and superiority. He turns around and raises his hands in victory and the crowd around us cheers.

Suddenly I'm so angry, so fucking angry. With an angry snarl I've thrown myself on Charlie and the two of us comes crashing to the ground. Charlie lands beneath me and before he has the chance to even react I'm throwing punch after punch at him. I don't care where I hit, as long as I hit him somewhere. This is the wrong strategy, for a second later Charlie's fist is in my face and then we're rolling around, both of us trying to get the upperhand.

Our fight loses all finesse as we're wrestling, hands tugging and slapping at each others' limbs and legs kicking feebly. Charlie pulls at my hair and I bite his arm. Around us the crowd is chanting 'FIGHT FIGHT FIGHT'. I feel blood pouring out of my nose and my ribs are hurting but that doesn't matter, as long as Charlie is hurting more than I am.

Alarmed voices call somewhere in the distance but I ignore them, finally getting Charlie underneath me again. I grab his bangs and pounds his head hard into the ground before punching him as hard as I can on the nose. I feel something crack both beneath my hand and inside it.

A pair of hand suddenly grabs hold of me and starts to pull me away. I snarls and try to break loose but the grip on my biceps are far too strong. I'm pulled off Charlie and away. With my left foot I drive my heel as hard as I can into the toes of whoever is dragging me away. A scream of pain erupts behind me and the grip on my arms loosen. I tear my right arm free and tries to grab hold of Charlie, who had risen to his feet.

A second pair of hands takes hold of my free arm and then I'm being pulled backwards. I scream and snarl at Charlie, still struggling to get free. Something suddenly block's my view and when I realise it's another face I try to headbutt it. A hand in my hair forces my head back.

"Mr Holmes you calm down this instant!"

The eyes of Mr Fisher is staring into mine and it feels as if someone waken me from a dream. Around me students are gathered in groups, some horrified and others delighted at the fight that was recently broken up. From the corner of my eye I can spot John and David, a hand each on their chest and a teacher in between them. John is screaming nonsense at David and David humps the air when the teacher isn't looking at him.

Behind Mr Fisher Charlie stands, holding a hand to his broken nose and trying to stop the blood. His hair is full of blood, most likely my own, and his left eye has already began to swell.

"Mr Holmes!"

I look into Mr Fisher's eyes and snarl: "Yes?"

"Good." He releases my head and the grips on my arms loosen. I receive one final stern look from Mr Fisher before he turns around and addresses the students.

"Everybody who wasn't directly involved in this fight. GET THE HELL OUT OF HERE!"

The mass of pupils quickly dispels, many of them giving me dirty looks, mouthing words as 'fag' and 'queer'. In the middle of the crowd I spot a grinning Moriarty. I can see him blow me a kiss and wink before he disappears in the ocean of navy blue suit jackets.

"Mr Webb and Mr Parker to the nurse. Mr Watson and Mr Holmes to the principal's office. NOW!

* * *

The visit at the principal's office had been short. John and I entered, John and I got blamed for the fight, John and I was excused with orders to visit the nurse. The walk to the nurse had been quiet.

John is now seated next to me in the waiting room outside the examination room. I'm awkwardly pressing a handkerchief to my bleeding nose with my left hand. I'm sure the ring finger on my right hand is broken.

Beside me John is pressing an ice pack he received from the nurse to his right eye. As far as I can see all he's going to suffer from is a black eye and wounded pride.

"How's the finger?"

"Broken."

"You sure?"

"Yes."

"Okay." John falls silent once more, fingers with a hole in his trouser leg. We're both covered in dirt and dried blood, our clothes torn on several places. Mycroft would faint if he saw me like this. I hold back a smile at the thought.

"You flirted with Mori-"

"Fake."

"Okay." John nods and sucks on his lips. I turn my head slightly so I can properly observe him. He looks torn between anger and confusion. The brow of his eye furrowed and his lips tightly pressed together. My eyes fall on the ice pack pressed to his eyes and the dried blood on his hands. Guilt twists in my stomach and I look away. John got the black eye because of mine and Moriarty's fight. John got the blood on his hand when he helped me stop my bleeding nose. A nose that started to bleed because he defended me. John got the torn clothes because he was willing to wrestle a person to the ground for humiliating me. The reasonable part of my brain wants me to be angry with Moriarty for dragging John into this, a conflict that only concerns me and Jim, but for once the emotional part of me has the upperhand.

"If you want to talk about anything Sherlock I'm-"

"I don't."

"I know you're probably upset and-"

"I'm not."

"- _And_ that what David and Charlie did might have shaken you a bit."

"It didn't."

"I know it did Sherlock I saw your face."

"It _didn't_."

"Okay. I just want you to know that if you need me I'm here for you."

"I don't."

John sighs and fists his free hand. I remain impassive and ignore John's obvious display of annoyance. The guilt is still eating away in my stomach and John's obvious display of caring and sentiment isn't helping.

"You know Sherlock, I just wish that you would trust me. Please." His tone is strained, as if he's holding something back.

"I do." I tell him.

"Then why don't you show me that?" He asks loudly, managing a rather impressive glare with his one visible eye.

"You know I don't do that John." I don't do emotions. I don't do sentiment. I rarely do trust. I once again ignore the voice in my head telling me I do emotions, sentiment and trust, at least when it comes to John.

John. The exception to my everything. Just ordinary John who is so special and so interesting. John who looks at me with adoration and respect, instead of hatred and disgust. John, who despite everything, still is around. John who loves me, and who I love.

John who besides me mumbles something about machines. I look down at my lap, my fingers twitching with the need to take John's hand and ensure me that everything is alright. That I haven't destroyed this as I destroy everything else. I ignore the need and fist my hand in the fabric of my trousers instead.

* * *

**There will be some explanations now because there are some things in this text I want to explain. If you don't have anything you want to explain feel free to skip it and if you want something explained which I haven't explained feel free to ask me in a comment.**

1\. I'm one of the many who's headcanon is that Sherlock sexuall orientetion falls somewhere in the asexual spectra. So here follows a short expliation on asexuallity (note that sexuallity is different for everyone and therefore some might agree to this and others might not but I'll try to make it as non ofending as possible. Also note that I'm no expert on the subject..) Asexuallity in its broadest sense, is the lack of sexual attraction to others, meaning asexuals don't find other persons sexy and don't have an urge to have sex. However, this doesn't mean that asexuals don't have a sexdrive or don't want to have sex. Some asexuals enjoy sex a lot and some don't want to have any sex at all while others like sex but it kind of meeh. This is entirely up to the person and should be respected. Personally I identify as asexual and I personally find that instead of having an urge to have sex I want to cuddle. Like when I see a picture of someone good looking I want to cuddle them, and not have sex. This is also something that differs from asexuals but the fact that I'm mentioning it is because I base Sherlock's asexuality on my own because that's what's easiest, hence the fact that he liked the cuddling more than the sex.

2\. The fact that John got offended when he was called homophobic slurs was not because of the fact that he doesn't like boys, but because homophobic slurs are based on the idea that homosexualls aren't of the same worth or importance as heterosexualls. And for the part where he said I'm not gay. It was partly for the fact that I kind of wanted his catchphrase but also because he isn't gay in this story. He's bi.

Anyway, thanks for reading and thanks for all the kudos, bookmarks and comments. It really means a lot to me that you like this story and it makes me feel stronger in everyday life. You are really the best readers ever, all of you.

Comments are highly appreciated.

Love  
/Phin

**Author's Note:**

> A/N:Hello and thanks for reading. Comments are very much appreciated :)
> 
> So this is going to be my first School AU fic and It's going to be a rather long one as well. I have planned out every chapter in advance so the risk of this work not being finished is slim since it's often the fact that I don't know how to continue a story that makes me abandon it.
> 
> And then for some warnings: This story will contain graphic descriptions of violence (already has in fact), sex between two males, homophobia and mentions of past death. I will specify before each chapter so you're all prepared. And some other less serious warnings: this will be a bit cheesy and a bit OOC.
> 
> The updates on this will be irregular and mostly depend on how much schoolwork I have, for more precise updates on how my writing's going, check my tumblr. Link can be found on my profile
> 
> Love  
> /Phin


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